


Forever Here With You

by idreamofignoct



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bottom Noctis, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining Ignis, Predator/Prey, Rimming, Romance, Smut, Somnophilia, Tags to be added as necessary, bottom Ignis, hunter ignis, reference to flesh eating, vampire noctis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 20:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11043822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamofignoct/pseuds/idreamofignoct
Summary: He had been raised to view them as the enemy. Something inhuman, without feeling. Something that deserved death. Monsters.But Ignis did not see a monster that night. What he saw was beyond definition. A sensory experience that touched some deep part of him he didn’t know existed.





	1. Lover's Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY
> 
> So Heich has blessed us with an amazing concept in the form of a vampire AU featuring vamp!Noct (if you haven't seen this pic yet [YOU REALLY NEED TO](https://twitter.com/HE1Chou/status/868689894746574849) ) I loved the idea so much I decided to take a crack at it. This is more or less the prelude to the happily married older ignoct in her art. I hope you all enjoy this! :)

He had been raised to view them as the enemy. Something inhuman, without feeling. Something that deserved death. Monsters. 

But Ignis did not see a monster that night. What he saw was beyond definition. A sensory experience that touched some deep part of him he didn’t know existed. 

Even now, the memory of Prince Noctis’s starlit eyes, the flash of white teeth in the moonlight, the breathy voice against his ear, cool fingertips deftly sliding along his jaw line, haunted his memories. The way he leaned in close to inhale Ignis’s scent. The encounter should have repulsed Ignis. The prince was of the cursed vampiric bloodline tied to the endless night his kind enjoyed. Ignis had taken a vow to kill them, for only then could the world know dawn again. Instead, he felt a stirring in his heart, in his groin. Thoughts of killing the prince never entered his mind as his hands crept up the vampire’s sleeves, fingertips tracing the intricate threading of his dress jacket. Their gazes met and held, leaving Ignis enthralled by what he saw in Prince Noctis’s eyes. No one had ever looked at him in such a way. As if he’d devour him whole. Deep down, Ignis knew he’d let him without question. Such absolute surrender shocked as much as it frightened him. 

A hunter’s approach disrupted the moment, forcing Prince Noctis to withdraw and leaving Ignis shaken. Breathless. Since then, he lay awake, overcome by the intensity of his feelings, the siren call to seek the vampire out. To feel his touch again. To address him by name, and hear his name pass those lips.

He contemplated the other hunters residing in the lodge, men and women who smiled and laughed despite the blood staining their hands. To them, it was not murder but mercy. _I am sworn to kill their kind,_ Ignis told himself over and over. His life had revolved around the satisfaction gained through duty and dedication to the cause. But the vampire’s face did not leave him, nor did the desire slowly burning him from the inside. It made him look at himself in the mirror and think, _Is this all I am?_

That evening, Ignis stood in the doorway leading to the courtyard. Grooms readied mounts while hunters had the blacksmith inspect weaponry. One of the oldest and most seasoned hunters approached him. He offered Ignis a sympathetic smile. 

“Tonight’s your first night back, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He spoke softly, though in truth he trembled like a restive chocobo. “It has not been easy.”

“Well, you know the rules about recovery,” the hunter said. “Can’t have a spooked hunter freeze and get his fellows killed.” He cast a quick glance his way. “Not like you to let one of ‘em surprise you. What was it you saw anyway?”

Unconsciously, Ignis touched his face, fingertips resting on the same spot where the vampire touched him. No, _caressed_ him. 

“Something…unexpected,” Ignis said, and a puzzled look crossed the other man’s features at Ignis’s evasive answer. Though they had worked together on previous hunts, Ignis could never reveal what was in his heart. Not without great risk. “Don’t worry about me. I will be ready.”

“Hope so. Hate to lose you to one of these bastards. Kill too many of us as it is.” He gripped Ignis’s shoulder. “Good hunting.”

“Good hunting,” he said, the traditional farewell automatic. Again, the puzzled look entered the man’s eyes, but another hunter signaled him, preventing further questions.

As the hunter hurried to meet his fellow, Ignis turned his gaze to the horizon. Felt tingles of excitement along his skin. He didn’t know how, but he sensed _him_ out there, watching. His pulse quickened. Did he await him, too? The promise in those eyes certainly said so. 

Two hours later, Ignis and the other hunters rode out. Lights fixed to their mounts cast their immediate surroundings in white. Weapons gleamed silvery blue in gloved hands, for lesser vampires commonly attacked riders on the road. Ignis’s dagger felt strange in his hand. As if it belonged to the man he’d been prior to seeing the vampire. That Ignis had no qualms about slitting a blood sucker’s throat. This new Ignis, however, would offer his own throat to Prince Noctis. Slash it if necessary. 

A panicked shout pulled Ignis from his thoughts. A voretooth sprang from the surrounding brush to clamp its jaws around the lead rider’s chocobo. The bird lost its footing, crashing to the ground in a flurry of feathers and pained squawks. The rider, trapped beneath the bird’s body, fell victim to a second voretooth’s attack. 

The other hunters hopped off their birds. Ignis followed their example, setting his daggers as his chocobo bolted. Yet he found himself unable to join the fray. For his gaze was inexplicably drawn to the trees. Starlit eyes flashed in the darkness, beckoning him. Ignis didn’t recall leaving the battle. Some other force beyond his control or understanding compelled him forward. When he stood in front of him, trembling from want and fear, Prince Noctis touched his face, palm cupping cheek as readily as a key in a lock.

And he smiled. 

Ignis felt as if he was coming apart at the seams. 

Prince Noctis’s eyes gleamed, then softened. “I hoped to see you again, Ignis.” His voice washed over Ignis with the intensity of a storm-tossed wave. In turn, Ignis’s heart rate spiked, the low ache he only just now acknowledged forcing a small moan. The prince’s fingers slid along his lips, slow. Enticing. When he leaned in to touch his mouth to Ignis’s, all his defenses crumbled. The daggers slipped from his grasp. 

And this was how it began.

For the first few weeks, Ignis ventured to a nearby lodge for clandestine meetings with the prince. He was irresistibly drawn to his side, to feel his touch, taste his lips, hear his story. A life spent indoors due to his importance created a need for escape. He felt constricted by rules and regulations, something Ignis defined his own life by. But with his prince, Ignis experienced something he hadn’t realized he lacked: freedom. It only made his desire to be with him stronger.

The first time Noctis drank from him was an intoxicating affair. The prince had him on the floor, their bodies fused together, Ignis’s hands fastened to Noctis’s shoulders as pleasure coursed through him. Noctis adjusted his movements, sometimes thrusting so fast, Ignis’s breath hissed between his teeth, only to slow so he could trail kisses along the underside of his jaw, the side of his neck. And, as Ignis’s orgasm seized him, he felt Noctis’s teeth graze, then puncture the skin at the base of his neck. Pain and pleasure mingled inside him as Noctis increased his thrusts, leaving Ignis gasping for more. 

Noctis drew back to smile at him. A slow curving of lips slick with his blood. “You are so beautiful,” he said, coiling an arm around Ignis as he maintained his thrusts. Ignis moaned, fingernails digging into his skin. When his climax left him shuddering against Noctis’s body, the prince wrapped his arms around him, tenderly. “Will you stay with me?”

Delirious from pleasure, their closeness, the scent of sex that clung to him, Ignis murmured an assent. Noctis need not ask. Ignis knew, at his deepest level, this devotion went beyond simple enthrallment of a mortal to an immortal. This was a bond seemingly forged long ago, one that had lain dormant until the fateful night of their first encounter. Now Ignis could not conceive of a life where Noctis was not an integral part of it. 

They met like this a few times more, secure in the secret that was theirs. What marks Noctis left on Ignis, he healed with the softest of kisses. What marks Ignis left on Noctis healed almost instantly, though he allowed Ignis to run his tongue along them as if he, too, had the capability to heal. Ignis couldn’t get enough. The sight of Noctis laid out on the bed, his pale skin illuminated by moonlight, the ripple of muscle on his chest and arms, ignited more than just Ignis’s passion. For at times, Noctis seemed almost vulnerable despite his nature. And it was Ignis’s nature to want to protect.

One night, Noctis did not meet Ignis. Anxiety tore through him: had a hunter found his resting place? Thoughts of that beautiful body mangled by hunter weaponry infuriated him. A desperate search led him to a hollowed tree. There, he found his prince slumped in place, arms lifeless at his sides. Blood pooled beneath him. At sensing Ignis standing over him, awestruck and pale, Noctis lifted his head. Both cheeks appeared to have been slashed open. Starlit eyes were dull with pain. 

“Ignis…” Noctis reached for him with a trembling hand. His silent plea for help momentarily stilled Ignis’s breathing.

Then he was on his knees, his sleeve balled past his elbow. He offered his wrist to Noctis. A faint smile of relief touched his lips before he put his mouth to Ignis’s arm. He refrained from wincing as Noctis’s teeth pierced his skin. Ignis steadied himself by placing his hand on Noctis’s shoulder, his heart twisting with anger over the one responsible for harming his prince. 

After a time, Noctis pulled away. Though he’d need to drink more blood to fully recover, Ignis was relieved to see the wounds on his cheeks close. This soon turned to arousal when Noctis trailed his tongue along the inside of Ignis’s forearm. Such a slow, sensual movement immediately called forth a memory of Noctis on his knees before him. Ignis sank to the ground, mesmerized by his prince giving him such lavish attention. He leaned forward just as Noctis lifted his head. Their lips met, then their tongues. Ignis tasted his own blood on Noctis’s lips and groaned. 

Noctis pulled Ignis’s shirt open, the chill air striking his skin vanishing the instant Noctis pressed his mouth to his chest. The touch was like an electric jolt that went straight to Ignis’s groin. He held fast to him, lips buried in his hair as he tugged at his belt. While this was hardly the kind of place for a romantic tryst, Ignis’s thoughts steadily unraveled as Noctis’s caresses turned demanding. All he wanted was to offer himself to his prince. 

But then a hunter emerged from the brush. Shock and disbelief passed over his face at the sight of Ignis in the arms of a vampire, until disappointment darkened his eyes. But Ignis did not care for the man’s opinion. He stared at the hunter’s brandished sword. Knew whose blood dripped down its razor edge. 

Ignis knew him. Had worked with him. Laughed with him. And none of it mattered now.

Signaling for Noctis to remain where he was, Ignis slowly rose to his feet. Given the surprised look in the hunter’s eyes, Ignis imagined he made quite a sight, shirt open, skin flushed. He held the other man’s gaze as he pulled his dagger free. With a swift flick of his wrist, he watched, satisfaction unfurling within him, as the blade pierced the man’s neck. The hunter staggered in place, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Streams of blood poured down his neck. Saturated his clothing. Then he collapsed. 

In that instant, Ignis had committed the ultimate betrayal. Yet as he gazed back at his prince, who studied him with such intensity, Ignis found himself uncaring. Not when Noctis needed him more. There was no going back.

He extended his hand. “We must depart qui—” 

Shots rang out into the air. Ignis’s heart seized at the sight of Noctis, his beloved Noctis, riddled with bullets. As he fell back with a pained hiss, something struck Ignis on the back of his head and sent him sprawling. His world dimmed until the echo of an angry snarl snapped him back to himself. Ignis, conscious of the blood running down the back of his head, took in the sight of a pair of hunters standing over Noctis, swords drawn, and went rigid. 

_No!_

He scrambled toward them with a furious cry. Rough hands grabbed him by the legs, dragged him along the ground. Sharp rocks cut into his bare chest. More hands seized him, fingers tight around his upper arms as he was yanked to his feet. Several hunters surrounded him, faces contorted into expressions of anger and disbelief. All of them held blazing torches. Weapons were drawn. Shouts of, ‘Traitor!’ rang into the night. 

Ignis did not need to ask what came next. He knew the price for consorting with the enemy as well as any of them. His one regret was his inability to save Noctis. He cast a desperate glance to his prince, only to scream when the hunters drove their swords into him. It became the last thing he saw, for someone forced his head back and held a torch to his eyes. What followed next was searing pain, the stench of burnt flesh, then darkness. Inescapable darkness. The echo of an anguished howl seemed to chase after him. 

An eternity passed. Ignis struggled to free himself of the endless black void. But it was a voice, _his_ voice, that pierced the darkness.

“…won’t let you die,” Noctis said in ragged tones. “Taking you someplace safe.”

Safe. Ignis clung to the word, the tenderness, the affection, and the promise in the voice. Eventually, he drifted back into the darkness. 

Gentle hands caressing his face woke him. Ignis opened his eyes, or tried to. A rush of unexpected pain caused him to gasp sharply. His hand drifted to his brow. Froze at feeling the bandages there.

“Noct…?” He murmured his nickname, first whispered during intense moments of lovemaking. “Where am I?” 

“I’ve brought you home.” Noctis smoothed Ignis’s hair from his brow. Strange how more…defined the touch was. As if Ignis experienced it on a different level. 

Ignis turned his head toward the sound of Noctis’s voice. The bandages rubbed against the sensitive skin around his eyes. He felt along the outer edges. “What happened to me?” 

Noctis drew in a small, shuddering breath, then touched his lips to Ignis’s brow, his nose, his cheeks. “ _Ignis,_ ” he moaned. “They tried to kill you. Take you from me. I wouldn’t let them. But you…your eyes…I’ll make it right.” Noctis pressed a swift, meaningful kiss to Ignis’s lips. “Once I’m healed, I’ll make it right.”

The next few days passed slowly, painfully. Ignis lay back in bed, keeping track of the time by the shift in the darkness that cloaked his sight. The knowledge he was blind didn’t hurt nearly so much as his inability to help Noctis heal. Knowing someone else sustained Noctis summoned a small dart of jealously to his breast. This also helped him come to a decision regarding the gift Noctis had offered. 

That night, when he felt Noctis slide his body into bed beside him, the questing fingers skimming along the bandages, Ignis laid a hand over his. 

“You do not have to do this, Noct,” he said softly. 

There was a slight pause. “But, Iggy,” Noctis said, and the use of his nickname never failed to bring warmth to Ignis’s heart. “What about your sight?”

“The loss of my sight is a small price to pay for my commitment to you. And I promise you,” he said, fingers threading with Noctis’s. “My impairment will not prevent me from ensuring you are never targeted again.”

Though Ignis’s remaining had caused a stir in the prince’s household, Noctis’s wants overrode their usual caution. For even those who opposed Ignis’s presence didn’t miss their former enemy’s sincere attachment to the prince. Ignis also provided them with vital information concerning the location of hunter lodges. This alone granted his remaining King Regis’s blessing. 

As the months passed, Ignis divided his time between adjusting to life without vision and devoting himself to Noctis in every way possible. Whether he accompanied him on jaunts to satisfy his wanderlust or shared his bed, Ignis found peace. The sense of purpose he once felt as a hunter paled in comparison to what sustained him now.

Then the time came for Noctis to undergo the next stage of his evolution, something all vampires of his bloodline experienced. This required an extended stay in a location far from the safety of the castle. 

“How long will this transformation take?” Ignis asked. They lay in bed, Noctis’s head pillowed on his shoulder, their legs tangled among the sheets. 

“A few months? Years? I don’t know.” Noctis nuzzled at his neck, first with his lips, then his tongue, in slow, languid circles. “Mm. You taste so good, Ignis,” he said, nipping at his skin. “Let me taste you again.” 

Though the contact sent shivers of pleasure along Ignis’s skin, he needed to keep Noctis focused. He captured Noctis’s chin between his fingers. As he did, Noctis, little imp that he was, nibbled at his fingers. Sensing his insatiable prince’s intent, Ignis reluctantly pulled his hand away and sat up. Noctis made a small, petulant sound when Ignis drew his shirt on.

The bed shifted as Noctis slid his arms around Ignis’s waist. His hands rested tantalizingly close to his groin. The proximity was enough to stiffen Ignis’s cock. His eye slid closed, both from the frustratingly effective way Noctis could bend him and the need to know what lay ahead.

“Your father has tasked me with escorting you to your family crypt,” Ignis said, his breath catching as Noctis casually circled his fingers around Ignis’s cock. “You will be in a vulnerable state. If I am to protect you during this time, I must know how long.”

Noctis’s idle strokes ceased, allowing Ignis’s mind to refocus. His blindness had opened his other senses to such a degree, even the slightest touch was enough to incite a powerful response.

A small sigh sounded at his back. Noctis’s hands retreated, leaving Ignis feeling cold. Desolate. 

“Dad thinks it’ll be ten years.” 

The span of time hit Ignis like a gut punch. These past few months had been nothing short of euphoric. To live without this, without _him_ , for that long, seemed too large for him to comprehend. 

Noctis sat up, pressing himself to Ignis’s back. He coiled his arms around him. Ignis knew this was not an embrace meant to lure him into bed. The subtle trembling in his arms was of someone who didn’t want to let go. In response, Ignis closed his hands over Noctis’s wrists, locking his arms in place over his chest. 

A long silence passed. “I wish it wasn’t happening so soon,” Noctis murmured.

“There is little we can do regarding your evolution,” Ignis replied with a sigh. “We can only prepare for it.”

Noctis mumbled an agreement. Then his mouth found the back of Ignis’s neck, teeth grazing the skin. “It’s not happening yet,” the prince said in husky tones. His hands slid along his upper back to come to a rest at his shoulders. Noctis turned his face to Ignis’s ear. “I want to have you while I still can.”

Ignis’s eye fluttered closed in anticipation of the bite. When it came, it seemed every nerve burst to life at once, the sensation flowing through him as potent as an orgasm. Noctis drank deeply from him, fingers curling into the flesh of Ignis’s shoulders. Ignis shuddered against him, arousal clouding his mind at feeling Noctis’s hard cock nudge the cleft of his ass. Soon all thoughts and concerns gave way for the pure ecstasy to be had in his prince’s arms. Only after Noctis slipped into brief stasis following their lovemaking did Ignis allow himself to reflect on their upcoming departure. On what he needed to do to steel himself against the loneliness already threatening to take hold.

An increasing lethargy in Noctis indicated his time neared. He spent the journey fighting to stay awake. Every time Ignis suggested he rest, Noctis refused. 

“Not yet,” he said, his words slurring. He touched Ignis’s face, fingers tracing the outline of the scar there. “Promise you’ll be there when I wake up.”

Ignis’s heart caught in his chest. He laid his hand over Noctis’s on his face. “I’m not leaving your side, Noct.”

“Good.” Ignis heard the relieved smile in his voice. His head dropped to his shoulder. “Gonna miss you so damn much. Just want one more taste…”

Ignis, about to loosen his collar to present his neck as requested, sensed a change in Noctis’s body. The stillness seemed deeper now. Ignis, his throat tightening around a sob, gathered Noctis in his arms, pressed a kiss to the top of his hair.

Upon their arrival, Ignis carried Noctis into the crypt. Tenderly laid him on the bed his retainers had prepared for him. Then Ignis took up his dagger, slashed his forearm, and collected the blood in a small vial taken from his belt. He felt for Noctis’s hand, gently slipped the vial between his fingers. Ignis didn’t relinquish his hand for a few moments, wanting to preserve the memory for the long years ahead.

Footsteps sounded to his right. “We must seal the crypt,” the man said. 

Ignis bowed his head. He waited until the retainer departed before leaning over to kiss Noctis’s brow. “Rest well, dear heart,” Ignis whispered, affection warming his words. “I will keep you safe. I promise.”

With that, he gave Noctis’s hand another squeeze, turned, and strode for the exit. Tried not to flinch at hearing the heavy door shift, the reverberating echo as it closed. But there was little time for sorrow, for a distressed shout alerted him, immediately silenced by a gunshot.

Angry shouts pierced the air. Ignis withdrew his daggers. The pain of missing Noctis gave way for grim determination. 

These hunters would _die_ before reaching his prince.


	2. The Bloodhound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for Noctis's awakening nears. Fearing for his son's safety, King Regis asks Ignis to investigate the sighting of a Bloodhound, an elite class of hunter specializing in tracking vampires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO A NEW ADDITION TO THIS BEAUTIFUL AU!
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter, but I just couldn't wait to share this with you all. Looks like it's going to be multi chapter after all. Please enjoy!

Tonight, like every night before, Ignis stood in front of the crypt, his hand flat upon its cool surface, his thoughts drifting to Noctis, separated from him by the heavy, stone door. It had become a ritual for him over the years, something to hold fast to. 

Ignis’s fingers curled above the Lucis family crest engraved on the stone. So many days and nights passed where he stood here, missing Noctis with a persistent ache that, at times, seemed too great to bear. Memories of their time together had taken on the fragile quality of dreams, instances forgotten the moment of recall, but leaving a lasting impact. Whether Ignis lay in bed alone, caught up in a sensual memory that drove him mad from want of release or on the hunt, the effect remained the same: a gut punch he had yet to recover from.

He slid his hand along the intricate carving, feeling not cold stone but soft, smooth flesh. Scented not damp earth, but the rich, musky aroma of Noctis’s skin. He adored the way he smelled. It lingered long after they parted, like the touch of a hand on his. Reassuring him. Steadying him. 

Ignis leaned forward until his brow touched the stone. A long sigh shook his body. Physical desire alone did not fuel the ache he’d carried with him since the night the crypt was sealed. Those small moments, instances otherwise overlooked, haunted his memories more often of late: Noctis’s penchant for kicking the pillows to the floor, the little snort he’d make upon awakening, the sound of his laughter. The way he’d drag out the syllables of Ignis’s name, whether in exasperation or anticipation. Simply put, he missed _Noctis._

But not for much longer. The ten years was nearly up. There existed a real chance he’d see his prince, if not tonight then in the nights to come. Because of this, Ignis considered staying close to the crypt. Let others in the prince’s guard track hunters. He’d made a promise to Noctis. He had no intention of breaking it. 

The sharp echo of footsteps alerted him. Judging from the slow, careful pace, he determined it to be his relief. Though they’d shared the importance of guarding King Regis’s successor, Ignis never learned the vampire’s name. In turn, the vampire did not address him by his. There were some who did not approve of Ignis’s role in the prince’s life. Ignis did not waste time trying to convince them otherwise. His actions told them all they needed to know. It was not his fault they chose to overlook it. 

Drawing on the blindfold he’d taken to wearing- only Noctis ever saw him without it- Ignis turned to await the vampire’s arrival. Normally, he’d hand the key over and retreat to the small lodge that had been his home for the past ten years. The key remained in his pocket, more sacred to him now than ever. 

The vampire stopped some feet away. Ignis did not need to see his face to detect the cool disdain he bore the former hunter. “The king is here,” he said. “He requests your presence immediately.” 

Ignis’s pulse throbbed. If the king himself was present, then Noctis’s awakening was closer than he realized. He hid his pleasure at their reunion and responded with a cool nod. However, his steps were checked when the vampire spoke again.

“The key.” 

A muscle worked in Ignis’s cheek. Every instinct he possessed screamed for him to retain the key. But he did not want to bring attention to himself. It would not do for him to appear lovesick in front of those who did not wholly support his presence here.

Ignis surrendered the key with a swift movement. The vampire claimed it without a word and stepped back. Ignis continued walking, doing his best not to acknowledge the feeling of dread now crawling along the back of his neck. It was not forever, he told himself. The thought sustained him as he left the crypt behind.

Upon first accepting the responsibility to guard Noctis, Ignis spent countless nights mapping the grounds. The crypt was less a designated burial ground and more a residence that, according to its history, once served as the Lucis patriarch’s private retreat. Ten years allowed Ignis to memorize the layout, right down to the breaks in the floor where the wood had become too worn. The scent of smoke led him to the main reception room. As always, the heat and smell of a burning fire in a hearth recalled memories of spending time in the old hunter lodge with Noctis. Ignis consoled himself they’d become reality once more and crossed the threshold.

Though he could not see the king, he felt the subdued power of his presence. The more time he spent among vampires, the easier it became to identify them thus. As Ignis faced the king, he wondered how strong Noctis’s presence would be after all this time. How different would his prince be? Would Ignis know him by presence alone, as he did before? He cast the thought from him. Now was not the time for such speculation. 

“Ah, Ignis.” King Regis spoke in soft yet clear tones, the faintest hint of an accent lilting his words. Most of the vampires in the region shared this accent. A variation of it had spread to the human world, which accounted for Ignis’s accent. Noctis, on the other hand, had not adopted it. When asked, Noctis said he didn’t want to sound like everyone else. It didn’t stop him from commenting on how much he _loved_ Ignis’s accent.

“Majesty.” Ignis gave a formal bow. “You wish to speak to me?”

“Yes. Please, sit.”

Ignis unerringly pulled one of the large, heavy chairs from the table. Its legs scraped against the wood, creating a jarring sound that hurt Ignis’s ears. He refrained from wincing as he eased into it, legs crossed, hands folded on his lap. 

Another chair creaked as the king settled across from him. The door on the far side of the room opened. Ignis identified some of the kitchen staff by their footsteps. Since he’d taken residence here, the king had arranged for humans to prepare meals and keep house while he was on duty. Ignis leaned back to allow one of them set plate, cutlery, and a glass before him. The scent of fish drifted into the air. Ignis recognized it as one of his favorite dishes. Another staff member uncorked a wine bottle- blackberry by its aroma- and poured a helping into the glass.

King Regis waited until the staff departed before addressing Ignis. “It’s been a long night for you. You must be famished.” 

While the delectable meal laid before him roused his hunger, Ignis’s need to know the reason for the summons prevented him from indulging.

“If you’ll forgive my boldness, Majesty,” he said, straightening in the chair. “May I ask what this is about?”

There was a brief pause. Something in the air changed. Ignis felt it along every nerve. 

“It concerns my son,” the king said softly, and Ignis drew in a sharp breath. “Members of our patriarch’s household have alerted me to concerns pertaining to his safety.” 

Ignis leaned forward. From what he knew, the Lucis patriarch lived in relative seclusion far to the west. For him to have direct contact with the king, and with such important knowledge, held deeper meaning. As to what it could be, he did not know. Only Noctis’s safety mattered.

“Is it hunters?” he asked, anger lacing his words. “I will root them out. Nothing must become of Noct- the prince. He is too important.” _To me as much as his bloodline,_ he thought, his heart pounding. 

“In this, we are agreed.” King Regis sounded relieved. “I have received word a Bloodhound has been sighted in my lands.” 

The name stiffened Ignis’s spine. The Bloodhounds, a specially trained sect separate from the vampire hunters, renowned for their nigh-supernatural tracking skills and reflexes. Rumor had it they were born from mating vampires and humans. What was not a rumor, however, was their reputation. Few survived an encounter with a Bloodhound.

Ignis’s hands curled into fists. “Are you saying a Bloodhound seeks the prince?” He spoke in a low voice.

The king gave a weary sigh. “I have no official proof of such a thing, but I cannot ignore a Bloodhound’s presence, not when Prince Noctis’s awakening is so near. I have been asked to send my best to investigate the matter. I know you will ensure he fails in his mission here, whatever it may be.”

Emboldened by the compliment and the king’s faith in his abilities, Ignis stood, his fists planted on the tabletop. “Just tell me where I am to go. I will take care of it.”

The chair scraped against the floor as the king rose. “He was last seen in the border town to the southwest of here.” 

Ignis bowed his head. He knew the place. He’d purchased supplies from the local shopkeeper prior to King Regis arranging the staff at the castle. “I will return as soon as I am able. Please consider increasing the number of guards while I am gone.”

A hand rested upon Ignis’s shoulder in a gesture of thanks. Ignis glanced in the king’s direction, momentarily at a loss for words. Though he knew he held the king’s favor, this was the first time Noctis’s father invited such familiar contact. 

“Have a care for yourself, Ignis. You are a treasured member of my household. It would cause my son great sorrow if something were to happen to you. And remember,” he said, as Ignis’s heart caught at the very idea of Noctis’s suffering. “Those with enough influence to hire a Bloodhound is not someone to be trifled with.”

The somewhat cryptic nature of the comment gave Ignis pause. But the king patted his shoulder, then slipped away, depriving Ignis of the opportunity to question him further. Any curiosity he may have devoted to it didn’t matter anyway, not when every inch of him was focused on his new mission. 

After a quick stop at the lodge to gather provisions, his uneaten dinner among them, Ignis returned to the crypt entrance. The vampire on duty granted him privacy, a rarity in his experience with him. As with the king’s comment, Ignis set it aside for more important matters. 

Laying his hand once more on the stone entrance, Ignis bowed his head. He drew breath to speak, found the farewell stuck in his throat. For this was the first time in ten years he’d be away from Noctis. Distress settled into the corner of his heart, overshadowed only by the steely determination he return as swift as possible. 

Ignis called up Noctis’s face, as he’d done countless nights before. _Wait for me, dear heart. I will be at your side when you wake. I promise._

He pressed a kiss to his fingertips, touched the space above the Lucis family crest. Then, shouldering his bag of provisions, Ignis walked away. Though he couldn’t be certain it was his imagination or the sorrow shadowing his footsteps, he swore he heard Noctis call out to him. 

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to turn back.


	3. Of Fate and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Regis's concerns for his son grow as their patriarch demands what is rightfully his. Ignis, forced off the road to avoid being seen by hunters, succumbs to a powerful memory of him and his prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So  
> The chapter wound up smuttier than anticipated but hey, sometimes you need to let the story take you where it wants to go.  
> Dedicating this scene to Heich because of our Immense Shared Thirst for ignoct sexy times. Enjoy!

King Regis watched Ignis walk away, a tall, slender shadow draped in a hooded cloak. He moved with such swift precision and grace, oftentimes the king had to remind himself the man was still human. Though he bore himself with the same pride and dignity as any vampire, sending him into a Bloodhound’s sights only reminded him of his mortality. Depriving his son of his most stalwart protector made Noctis’s vulnerability just as apparent.

And yet he had little choice in the matter.

The king sighed, turned away from the window. Those assigned his personal guard fell into step behind him, footfalls whisper-soft on the hardwood floors. Torches spit and hissed orange light, throwing distorted shadows on the walls as the king and his men walked the halls. Outside, the full array of scents saturated Regis’s senses. Stone with hints of earth and mold, the salty tang of the sea on the air. The myriad aromas associated with living near humans. His men held hands over their faces, shared expressions of disgust crossing their features. Regis, while sensitive to the unpleasant smells, did not give in to the want to shield his face. His thoughts were preoccupied with more important matters.

The guard standing in front of the crypt bowed at Regis’s approach. “Majesty,” he said, and presented the key. It was of heavy iron, wrought in a time when the sun still commanded the sky. 

Regis accepted it. “Leave me,” he said to his guard.

The men bowed as one.

Once they departed, Regis faced the door. His gaze rested on the circular indentation built above the lock, its intricate design matching that of the heavy, black ring he removed from his finger. He bit the side of his hand, allowing some drops of blood to coat the ring before inserting it into the opening. Invisible energies latched onto him, as greedy as any newly-born vampire feasting on a fresh kill. Regis clenched his teeth as ancient magics verified his identity. The persistent weakness that had grown over the years threatened to bring him to his knees. Reminded him of how quickly time was running out. For him, and for them all.

The constrictive feeling fled, leaving him sagging with relief. He inserted the key into the ancient lock, its internal mechanisms groaning as he turned it. A sound of scraping rock echoed as the door dragged itself open. A burst of stale air, thick with the scent of earth, blasted him in the face. The king slid the ring back onto his finger, pocketed the key, and crossed the threshold. 

Memories of times he emerged from this chamber throughout his long life hovered at the edges of his mind. Each emergence coincided with integral moments in his life: his adolescence, his ascension. Marriage. Fatherhood. The loss of his wife. Sealed enclosures built within the wall hinted at his future. He paused in front of his wife’s resting place, heart heavy from her loss even after all these years, before advancing deeper into the crypt. 

The furnishings in the main chamber was designed with comfort in mind. Regis spent many weeks here, his wife his erstwhile companion. When she became pregnant shortly after one of his awakenings, it was he who kept vigil during her slumber. Vampire pregnancies were long and, at times, difficult. There were moments where Regis feared his wife wouldn’t survive. But survive she did. And when he held his small son in his arms for the first time, pride and love and fear swelled within his heart. For he was the last vampiric son born of the Lucis bloodline. This put his life in the gravest danger. Noctis’s importance forced Regis to set boundaries on his son’s freedom. Such restrictions led him to escape the castle time and again. Willful, determined, given to his emotions, and inquisitive, nothing, not even the fate of their bloodline, convinced Noctis to mind his safety. 

Until Ignis. 

Many of his kind were perplexed by how one man, and a human at that, held such sway over the prince. Regis understood in the way a parent understands his child, even when the child remains ignorant of it. Ignis was more than just an infatuation or a night’s pleasure. A chosen confidante, consort, protector. Lover. Someone he could entrust Noctis to. Only the king knew better. His time was nearing its end. Their patriarch’s influence over the sun was nearing its end. Humanity had banded together, driven to seal their fate more than ever. The natural order of things superseded his son’s happiness. But oh, how Regis wished it could be different for them. 

The king summoned fire to the hearth. Heat flooded the room, chasing away the persistent chill clinging to stone walls. Then he approached the bed, the same where others before him had been born, had slept, and had met their final rest. His son lay in state, hands folded at his waist, the remains of his clothing scattered about him. Gone was the soft, almost sensual, face he’d worn for much of his youth. The years sculpted that face until it nearly mirrored Regis’s own. The son he knew seemed almost nonexistent in the man lying before him.

Regis brushed some errant strands of hair from Noctis’s brow. _How I wish I could see the sort of man you will become,_ he thought, regret and sadness holding fast to heart, as strong as Noctis’s grip on the vial of dark liquid. Though sealed for the past ten years, Regis recognized the scent as Ignis’s blood. Faint yet present, its intention to nourish as much as comfort. Something his son needed for the days ahead. 

Noctis’s brows knitted together. Lips that had been closed for a decade now opened, the muscles at his throat shifting. A hoarse whisper broke the stillness. 

“Ignis…?” he said, a world of longing and sorrow clinging to each syllable. 

Regis laid a hand on his brow. “I am here, my son,” he said, emotion thickening his voice. He smiled through the pain in his chest. “Rest. It is not yet time.”

Noctis sighed, went still. Once assured Noctis had drifted off, Regis retracted his hand.

The air grew heavier. Regis lifted his head, his gaze fixed on the wall, as a force, ancient and powerful, manifested behind him. It edged past him, greedily seeking the new, untapped potential within the sleeping prince. Noctis stirred, a pained sound emerging from deep in his throat. 

**Yesss. This will be mine…** The low voice, seductive, wanton, eager, sent an involuntary shiver down Regis’s spine. For something beyond his perception addressed him. Something divine.

“Very soon, my lord,” Regis murmured, lowering his gaze to Noctis’s face. “He needs more time.”

**Inconsequential. Surrender him to me…at _once._**

Regis gasped loudly as the energies tore through him and exited the crypt with such force, a crack developed on the far wall. The king slid to the floor beside the bed, his arms trembling as he held himself up. Fear turned his heart to stone. He cast his gaze to his son, who moaned low in his sleep, and bowed his head. 

It was the way of their bloodline. How it’d always been. And he had never felt more powerless against it.

***

For the past few hours, Ignis followed the road, mind focused on the task ahead, even as his heart ached over the distance each step put between him and Noctis. Unable to dismiss what he heard at the crypt, worry gnawed at Ignis’s vitals. Was Noctis calling out to him in his sleep, or was his awareness greater than he realized? How to know what Noctis could and could not sense while in such a deep sleep?

The thunderous echo of approaching riders cut into his thoughts. The scent of chocobo and leather reached him, followed by the stench of blood. Hunters returning from a fresh kill. Ignis hurried off the road, vanishing into the brush as the first rider raced past. Amiable conversation filled the air, men and women cheering and teasing one another over their success. A sense of isolation swept over him. It had nothing to do with his former life, and everything to do with missing Noctis.

At hearing the riders draw rein, Ignis settled onto the ground behind a tree. He trained his ears on their movements, attempting to calculate how many were present, his chances of escaping unseen. Instead, his lack of movement invited sleep to wrap around him. 

Ignis’s last memory was the feel of his chin hitting his chest. Then, dreams.

***  
_“Tell me about your family.”_

_Ignis gazed at Noctis, who lay pressed to his side, head in hand, fingers idly caressing his bare chest. Backlit by the fire, his pale skin took on a golden sheen. Tenderness shone in his eyes, his smile. It had been almost a month since their first encounter. Each subsequent meeting only lengthened, leaving Ignis subjected to more questions when he returned to the lodge. The lies fell from his lips almost too easily._

_This question, however? There was no clever lie to dissuade further probing._

_He did not answer straightaway. No one, not even the hunters he’d worked with, ever asked him to delve beyond where he grew up. Tragedy already united them to a singular cause. There was no need to embellish. At the time, Ignis had no desire to open himself up. But Noctis **had** opened him, challenged his perception and acceptance of things, especially himself. There was no closing that door again._

_It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. “I lived with my parents in a village to the east. My father was a book binder. My mother’s health suffered. One winter, she didn’t regain her strength. She taught me to keep house. I didn’t mind,” he said, smiling faintly. “I wanted to help.”_

_Noctis’s caresses drifted upward, teasing along Ignis’s collarbone. “So that’s why you know how to sew. I always wondered.”_

_“Indeed. I was ten when I made my first shirt.”_

_“Perfect, right?”_

_Ignis laughed lightly. “Certainly not. The stitching was uneven, one sleeve was too short, the collar too narrow. I was about twelve when…” His voice suddenly trailed off. Mention of his age brought forth another memory to the fore, one he hadn’t contested with since that terrible night. Tightness formed in his chest. It became harder to breathe. All the self-imposed barriers he’d placed around the incident threatened to crumble._

_Noctis studied him, curious. “Ignis? Is something wrong?”_

_Ignis could not reply. A memory had him in thrall. The screams, the amused laughter. And the blood. So much blood._

_The silence lengthened. As Noctis waited for him to speak, understanding surfaced in his eyes, quickly followed by guilt. He withdrew his hand._

_“Vampires killed your parents.”_

_Ignis released a trembling sigh. “Yes.” His response was no more than a whisper._

_The prince sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. Then Noctis’s shoulders shook as he expelled a long breath. “What would they think about us?”_

_Ignis turned his gaze to the ceiling. Recalled those instances he cried out in the night, a vision of his parents’ blood-drained bodies following him to wakefulness. Haunted eyes begging him to know why, why he betrayed their memory by giving himself to the enemy._

_The truth fell from his lips before he thought better of it. “It is something I have asked myself often these past few weeks,” he murmured, his heart breaking when Noctis flinched. “There is no knowing how they’d feel. I can only speculate.”_

_“You became a hunter because of it, right?” Noctis did not look at him._

_Again, Ignis paused. “…yes. But I do not hold you responsib—”_

_“They wouldn’t want you to be with me,” Noctis interrupted sharply. “They’d want you to kill me. They’d **expect** it. Because it’d be the right thing to do.” _

_The self-reproach limning Noctis’s words seemed directed at something more than what befell Ignis’s parents. He sat up, a hand hovering close to Noctis’s shoulder. Murmured his name._

_He suddenly whirled around, freezing Ignis in place with the wild emotion reflected in those shimmering, starlit eyes. “They think just because I’m a vampire, I’m heartless. I’m not. I know what I am. I’ve never been with someone who makes me feel like the way you do. You’re so beautiful, Ignis- everything about you. And sometimes you taste so **good** , I have to stop myself.” His face paled then, and he grabbed Ignis’s hands, squeezing them so tight he felt pain. He couldn’t react to it, not when Noctis searched his face with such acute desperation. “That’s what they’re so afraid of, isn’t it? Are you afraid?”_

_With every word Noctis uttered, Ignis’s heart twisted with more pain. This last entreaty, desperate, hopeful, spurned him into action. Freeing his hands from Noctis’s grip, he held the prince’s face close to his, offering the comfort of his nearness, their mingled breaths._

_**How could you betray us, Ignis?** His parents’ voices reached out to him. _

_Ignis, often laboring under the weight of how to respond, found his answer at last._

_**Because I cannot help but love him, no matter who or what he is.** _

_“Listen to me, Noct,” he said, speaking over the lump in his throat. “I am not afraid of you. I fear for you, so far from the safety of your father’s lands.” He stroked Noctis’s cheeks with his thumbs, relishing in the smooth feel of his skin. “There’s been talk at the lodge. Hunters travel this way more often. Perhaps we should part for the night.”_

_Noctis’s hands fastened to Ignis’s shoulders just as his lips claimed his mouth. It was a desperate, possessive kiss, one that shattered Ignis’s resolve. Noctis arranged himself on Ignis’s lap, his stiffened cock pressing against Ignis’s belly. Desire unfurled within him, and he groaned low in his throat._

_Noctis nibbled at his bottom lip. “Not yet,” he breathed against his mouth, voice and body trembling in response to his emotions. He slipped a hand between them, coiling his fingers around their cocks. He tugged on both with slow, languid motions. Ignis’s eyes fluttered closed. The heady scent of Noctis’s arousal intoxicated him. All thoughts gradually turned to pleasing his prince however he needed it. He enfolded Noctis in his arms, head tilted back to meet his kiss. Noctis bore down on him, forcing him onto his back. But when Ignis lifted his legs to circle Noctis’s waist, the prince gently eased his knees down._

_“No,” he said, pressing another kiss to Ignis’s jawline. He turned his face to his ear. “I want you inside me.”_

_Ignis, senses overwhelmed by the taste and feel of his prince, heard himself respond with a throaty moan that put a smile on Noctis’s face. They kissed again, roughly, tongues meeting noisily between their open mouths. Ignis felt Noctis’s teeth pierce his bottom lip. Blood filled his mouth, mixing with the saliva generated from their passionate kisses. Noctis gripped the back of Ignis’s head, holding him in place as he drank from his mouth as if he were a goblet._

_Feeling Noctis suck and lick at him like this filled Ignis with new sensation. The desire to see and hear Noctis cry out with the same ecstasy he derived from drinking Ignis’s blood took over._

_As Noctis drew back, a satisfied smile on his blood-red lips, Ignis gripped him by the hips. He ground out a command for Noctis to lie on his back. Delight and desire flashed in those eyes. Hooking his legs around Ignis’s waist, he lay down, a hand skimming Ignis’s chest as he rose above him, arranging his knees beneath Noctis’s thighs. Thought and movement were united as Ignis lathered his fingers in his mouth, his eyes never leaving Noctis’s face. Noctis sucked at his own fingers, slow where Ignis’s pace was hasty. When Ignis sought the prince’s entrance with his hand, Noctis’s fingers met him there. As he inserted a finger into himself, he invited Ignis to join him with his eyes._

_With one hand firm around his cock, Ignis pulled at himself as he pushed a finger into Noctis. The sight of Noctis squirming with unabashed pleasure, their fingers twisting and curling within him, was almost enough to bring Ignis to orgasm. His knees trembled as he pumped himself harder. Pre-come spilled over his fingers. His breathing turned labored. He choked out his prince’s name._

_Noctis’s eyes kindled. He removed his fingers. Ignis, half delirious with pleasure, seized him by the hips, elevated him so his cock lined up with his entrance. The head slid between his cheeks to meet, then press into his sex. Ignis shuddered at the contact. He wanted to savor the moment, for this was the first time he took his prince this way._

_But Noctis, body flush and eyes heavy with desire, let out a small, wanton moan. Arched his back in silent demand. The last of Ignis’s restraint fell away._

_He held fast to Noctis’s hips, breath catching in his throat as he thrust into him. Noctis threw his head back, a slow smile tugging at his lips. A second, purposeful thrust had his legs tighten around Ignis’s waist. It stilled him for a moment._

_Noctis wriggled beneath him. “Don’t stop, Iggy,” he breathed, bottom lip vanishing beneath his teeth. “Harder. Hard as you can. I want it.”_

_Ignis licked his lips. How he wanted it, too._

_As he snapped his hips forward, Noctis cried out his joy. Everything else was lost to sensation, the heavy panting and groans, the building tension in Ignis’s body as he drove into Noctis. Noctis dug his fingers into Ignis’s arms, leaving jagged streaks of red in his wake. Ignis felt dizzy from the heat of Noctis’s body around his cock, the pressure of his legs at his waist. Noctis’s back was practically off the floor, one arm propped beneath him as he furiously jerked himself off. His moans changed pitch with each successive thrust. Desire clouded his eyes. Firelight shone off the sweat dampening his skin. Ignis devoured the sight of him laid out thus, legs open to him, the ripple of muscles along his abdomen. Ignis slid his hand along Noctis’s belly, fingers catching in the dark hair above his groin. The roll of Noctis’s muscles beneath Ignis’s questing hand gradually tightened._

_His orgasm hit him hard, thick bands of white spilling from the head of his cock to coat his hand and belly and forcing a loud, satisfied cry of Ignis’s name. In those few seconds, Ignis’s pace turned frantic, his movements bringing him closer to cresting the wave of his desire. He tightened his hold on Noctis, felt his fingers dig into the skin and draw blood. His body shuddered as he rode every pleasurable wave resulting from his climax. Noctis met each thrust with such intensity, tears came to Ignis’s eyes at the over-stimulation._

_He returned to himself slowly, breathing hard, shoulders hunched. Noctis smiled coyly at him. He was so magnificent. Ignis leaned over to claim his mouth, the prince’s name a husky whisper against his lips._

_When they parted, Ignis slipped free from Noctis’s body. Noctis watched him, stretching lazily as Ignis set about cleaning their mess. After discarding the towel, Noctis encouraged Ignis to lay beside him. He caressed Ignis’s bottom lip with his finger. The open cut there was raw and painful._

_Noctis sent Ignis an apologetic smile as he winced. “I think I got a little too excited. Let me heal you.”_

_Ignis shook his head. “Leave it.”_

_“You’ll be scarred.” Noctis sounded distraught._

_He took the prince’s hand in his, pressed gentle kisses to his fingertips. “It’s a scar I will wear with pride. A memento to this night.”_

_Noctis searched Ignis’s face. Then hurt darkened his eyes. “You make it sound as if we won’t see one another again.”_

_While loathe to distress his beloved prince, especially after so passionate a coupling, Ignis couldn’t ignore the danger threatening their sanctuary. “I urge caution so we **can** see one another again.” He curled an arm around him, fingers sliding along the smooth skin of his shoulder. Noctis gazed at him with eyes that never failed to see into the deepest part of his heart. “Trust me, Noct. There is very little that will keep me from your side.”_

_Noctis flashed a relieved smile before stretching himself atop Ignis. The pleasant weight of his body stirred Ignis’s passions, but it was nothing compared to the feel of Noctis’s breath warming his neck. The tingling associated with him running his tongue along its length. The pinch of sharp teeth nipping at him. Ignis released a guttural moan the instant Noctis sank his teeth into him. His eyes fluttered closed, his pulse quickened, as a different kind of euphoric pleasure flooded Ignis’s senses. As Noctis drank from him, making small, contented sounds, Ignis’s sense of self faded. There was only Noctis, his prince, his beloved. His everything._

***

The loud rumble of wagon wheels dragged Ignis from sleep. For an instant, he couldn’t recall where he was. Vestiges of his memory-dream held fast to him, evidenced by the pressure of cloth against his throbbing erection. His arousal, more agonizing than pleasurable, demanded immediate release. His hand drifted to his pants, fingers already fumbling for the zipper. But the sound of an irritated voice cut through the haze of desire. He needed to reach town, and soon.

Gathering his legs under him, Ignis rose to his full height, his bag at his shoulder. He walked, adjusting his pants around an erection still awaiting attention. Given the nature of his dreams of late, the last thing he wanted to do was fall asleep on the road. The toll of watching over Noctis’s crypt carried a price not lightly paid. 

The echo of a footstep near him froze him in place. The blood flow concentrated on his groin seemed to shrink immediately, no doubt commandeered by the swift beating of his heart. His hand stole to the dagger sheathed at his hip. Slowed his breathing, stilled his body. Became one with his surroundings. 

Movement to his right.

Ignis pivoted on his heel, the blade of his dagger colliding with the sword its owner no doubt intended to drive through his heart. There was a surprised grunt, followed by a choked sound as Ignis effortlessly slit his would-be assailant’s throat. The man dropped to the ground. Ignis stood over him, patiently waiting for him to finish his death throes. When he fell silent, Ignis flicked the blood from his blade, returned it to its sheath, and knelt to inspect his attacker. 

A quick search of his pockets yielded coin, as well as a medallion. He ran his fingers along its surface, his brows lowering. Contracts were controlled by the different sects in the hunter’s guild, identifiable by the symbols engraved onto the medallion. 

The one he held was blank. 

A contract activated by a hunter, for a hunter. 

He pocketed the medallion and stood. It seemed he’d slain enough former colleagues to be designated a hunter-killer. The want to dismiss the threat to him was checked by King Regis’s words. Ignis set his jaw. It’d be in his best interests if he drew as little attention to himself as possible once in town. Especially concerning the reason _why_ he ventured so far from the king’s lands. 

Ignis dragged the body deeper into the woods. He did not cover it, nor did he have the time to bury it. The animals would see to its disposal. Shouldering his bag, Ignis walked on, letting the distant scent of a settlement lead him on. For the sooner he located the Bloodhound, the sooner he’d return home to Noctis.


	4. Blood Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis calls upon an old friend to assist his search for the Bloodhound's whereabouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More plot! Aranea's introduction as a vampire! Biggs! Wedge! Pining Ignis! Visions of Noct! 
> 
> As for the Bloodhound, I have a whole backstory I plan to touch on in future chapters. Enjoy!

Centuries ago, when vampires first rose to prominence, internal feuds over regional control spilled out into the countryside. Thousands of humans and livestock were slaughtered. Weary of the endless conflicts, a member of the Lucis line created safe havens for all. Here, people found refuge from strife. And, as the years passed, settled into the cycle of birth, life, and death, while those vampires not given to wanton bloodshed removed the threat of those favoring it. The end result was a network of border towns where two rules were strictly enforced: vampires were forbidden from feeding on the populace, and hunters could not kill any vampires. 

As Ignis stood near the town entrance, mind furiously working to disassemble the echoes of a busy settlement, he knew such laws did not protect vampires from other vampires- or hunters from other hunters. Passing himself off as a blind man hopelessly stumbling through town chafed at his pride. That, and he had no confidence in his ability to keep up the charade for extended periods of time. Reactions too deeply ingrained would give him away in an instant. If Ignis hoped to gain any information regarding the Bloodhound’s purpose here, he’d have to do it while remaining invisible to all present. Fortunately, he knew of an individual in town with the power to help him do this. 

Drawing his hood up, Ignis started down the road. She had a shop near the far side of town. He only hoped she hadn’t decided to move on.

Various scents assaulted him on all sides: cooking food, human and animal excrement, the stale stench of sweat, tanned leather, chocobo. Blood lurked beneath it all, be it from a freshly butchered carcass, a hunter returned from a job, or a passing vampire. All vampires reeked of blood. On some, it was the most dreadful of scents. The sharp, bitter aroma, so like the one clinging to his parents’ killer, never failed to turn his stomach. On others, it was a heady thing, a perfume of the skin that whispered of sensual delights. 

Noctis smelled like this.

Succumbing to a vision so like his dream was the last thing Ignis wanted. But Noctis, even in memory, held fast to him, insistent, provocative. Ignis allowed himself a moment to relish the memory of the scent and taste of Noctis’s skin, released a shuddering sigh, before forcing his focus elsewhere. 

_Soon,_ he thought, longing and anticipation wrapping tight around his heart. The assurance was as much for himself as his sleeping prince.

The sounds associated with the center of town drifted into the distance, giving way for the echo of water, the creak of a wooden mill. That it operated gave him hope, as his contact manufactured everything ranging from building materials to weapons. Ignis turned, his footfalls causing the wooden planks beneath him to tremble. As he neared the center, he picked out the sound of a sharp _snap_ , felt a heavy rush of wind push against him. 

“Look out!” someone shouted from above.

Ignis had only seconds to determine he stood in the path of a fallen tree limb. However, just as he prepared to leap out of the way, a sound associated with rope being pulled taut echoed to his right. There was a rustle, presumably of leaves, before the tree limb was safely guided away. It struck the side of the mill with a heavy _thud._

“Oiy!” Another voice rang out above him, sharp with annoyance. “Thought you had a hold of it.”

“I did,” grunted the man who’d initially called out to Ignis. “Rope up and frayed.”

His companion snorted in derision. “Hey, you down there,” he shouted toward Ignis. “You all- aw, hell, he’s blind! You almost knocked a blind man down.”

“What? Oh, hell.” 

Sensing their exchange about to escalate, Ignis addressed them. “I assure you I’m well,” he said, having to raise his voice above the two men currently hurling accusations at one another. “I’m hoping to find the owner of this establishment. Perhaps you can assist me.”

This cut the argument short. Ignis sensed both men fix their gazes on him. “What? Why you lookin’ for her? Can’t be about a weapon, what with you bein’ blind and all.” Skepticism and suspicion laced his words.

Ignis’s reply was checked at the sound of boot heels at his back, the echo of a woman’s voice.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you, Wedge. He can wield a weapon better than anyone with perfect vision. I’ve seen him do it.” 

“Is that right?” Disbelief laced his words.

Wedge’s companion grunted. “If she said he can, it’s true.”

“All right, you two, enough arguing,” the woman said, as if she were an exasperated older sister. “We’re already behind on filling this order, so snap to it.” 

The two men acknowledged her, voices drowned out by the rustle and scrape of the tree limb against the side of the building.

The woman came to a stop at his shoulder. “Sometimes I ask myself why I keep them around. But, a blood debt is a blood debt. Isn’t that so, Ignis?” The coy smile was undeniable in her voice.

He turned toward her. The scent of blood wrapped around her like a second skin, pleasant, with a hint of the wild. Given she had been turned by a vampire who preferred open country to civilization, it suited her nature. 

“Forgive me if I don’t indulge in further pleasantries, Aranea,” Ignis said. “I’ve come here for information.”

“Of course you have.” He heard the smile in her voice. “It no doubt involves someone who is indebted to _your_ blood.” She leaned closer to him. “Ten years, and still his scent clings to you, as strong as it did that night. It’s rather…endearing.”

He glanced away. The night they met involved combining their talents to kill a particularly powerful hunter out to collect a contract on her. Aranea lingered long enough to help clean and suture a shallow cut he’d taken in her defense. 

_“I really appreciate what you’ve done for me,” she’d said, binding the wound with skilled fingers. “I’ll be setting up shop in the border town southwest of here. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to find me. And you better be more careful out there. Can’t die before seeing your prince again, now can you?”_

He cast the memory from him, for accompanying it was, as always, the deeply rooted _ache_ of missing Noctis. “You are correct,” he said, forcing himself to speak over the lump in his throat. “I would rather discuss this indoors.”

He sensed her watching him. Perhaps weighing the want to ask after the reason for his arrival. Then she slid her arm through his. “We can talk in the basement.”

The scent of the workshop, heavy with the odor of oiled machinery, lanterns, and burning wood, greeted them when they entered. Here, the echo of the mill was louder and more distinct, giving Ignis the impression it ground on his very ears. Aranea seemed to understand his discomfort- his hearing was nearly as sensitive as a vampire’s- and guided him across the room. There was the creak of a door, followed by a match strike. Ignis detected the scent of lantern oil.

“Watch your step,” Aranea said, not loosening her hold on his arm as she started down the stairs. “Take a lot of abuse from those two constantly running up and down them.” Her tone was chiding, but fond.

“Have you had them employed for long?” Ignis asked, steadying himself by gliding his hand along the wall. He felt cracks in the masonry. 

She gave a low laugh. “It’s more the other way around.”

“How so? I thought you were in trade.”

A chuckle passed her lips. “Turns out I’m not very good at being a merchant. Biggs and Wedge are naturals, for all their training as hunters. So we swapped. Good thing, too. They were getting harassed by some asshole hunters. I took care of them.”

“Not in the town, I hope.” Ignis ducked as the top of his head brushed against the low ceiling.

“I could have gotten away with it,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “A lot of the residents wouldn’t look twice if their bodies were dumped in the middle of the road. In any case, I’m not about to be lectured by a man whose blade is bloodier than mine.”

Ignis refrained from responding to the truth of this comment. “I assume your business dealings have been favorable since then.”

“Given what’s happening in the outlying towns, yes. You might not know much of it guarding that crypt, but—”

“There is talk of uprisings,” Ignis said. “Mostly to the south and east. None present any immediate dangers to the king’s lands.”

“Your beloved prince will be king one day. You think they won’t find their way onto his lands?”

“If they do, they will live to regret it,” Ignis said, his tone as cold as a wintry day. “I have not kept Noct- the prince- safe only to allow some rabble rousers to kill him.”

Aranea paused on the bottom step. Ignis sensed her gaze on him. Felt the power of her presence strain against her self-control. “You haven’t seen what these same rabble rousers can do, Ignis. I have. Every evolutionary cycle is the same. Our numbers drop while humanity accelerates. I barely survived the time before King Regis’s ascension. Only now it’s worse. We know he’s weak, and _they_ know it. Never underestimate them.”

Aranea’s words struck a chord deep within, bringing forth the worry he’d nursed alongside his intense longing for Noctis. Common knowledge indicated a Lucis king’s ascension allowed the endless night to continue. But as to how, Ignis could only speculate. Any questions concerning the ascension of kings had been met with silence or, worse, derision. A sensitive topic of which he had no business knowing. Even Noct, who’d opened himself to Ignis in body, heart, and soul, did not seem to have the answer. 

“Apologies, Aranea,” he said, speaking softly. “I am not privy to the surrounding circumstances associated with the prince’s evolution. I only want to protect him.” _Hold him, hear him speak my name, feel his touch._

She made a soft sound of acknowledgement, as if aware of his inner desires. “As I said before,” she said, guiding him from the stairs. “Endearing.”

He conceded her words with a nod.

Aranea walked him across the other side of the room. At hearing her position a chair behind him, he sought a handhold on its back as he eased into the seat. He listened to Aranea move about, the clack of heels on stone, a cabinet door opening, the splash of liquid in a cup.

“Here,” she said, setting a cup in front of him. “The look on your face says you need it.” 

Ignis lifted the cup to his nose. Red wine. He took a small sip, letting it sit on the back of his tongue to absorb the full flavor. Tried not to recall those instances Noctis did something similar with his blood.

Or the times Ignis did with Noctis’s other…delectable fluids.

He knocked back the contents, seeking to sate his thirst as much as chase the powerful imagery from his mind.

“So tell me,” Aranea said, seating herself across from him. “What brings the region’s most infamous hunter-killer to a place teeming with those seeking his death?”

Ignis set the cup down. “You know of the contract.”

“I also know who activated it. I can point you to him, if that’s why you’re here. I hear he’ll be leaving soon. Should be able to take care of him then.” 

“Thank you, but no,” Ignis said. “I am looking for a Bloodhound. He was last sighted in or around town.”

Mention of his quarry resulted in Aranea’s quick intake of breath. It was enough for Ignis.

“Have you seen him? Tell me quickly.”

Aranea’s answer was a hissed curse. She touched his arm, fingers curling over the folds of his sleeve. It was a firm grip, born of concern and fear. “Just walk away, Ignis. A Bloodhound will bring nothing but trouble.”

Ignis gently eased her grip from his sleeve. “Your concern is appreciated; however, I must understand his purpose here. The king has tasked me with this.”

“The king?” Aranea repeated. Her voice lowered in pitch, as if she turned her face away. “Damn. Didn’t think it was like that…”

“Aranea.” Ignis’s tone was sharp. “Tell me what you know. Help me find him. On the honor of the blood debt you owe me.”

A tense silence passed. Finally, Aranea heaved a resigned sigh. “Very well. I can’t force you to walk away, but at least I can increase your chances of doing it.”

Ignis leaned forward. Anticipation coursed through him. At last, answers. 

Aranea spoke quickly, as if fearing the subject of her conversation had the power to hear through stone wall. “It’s true, the Bloodhound is here. His name is Nyx Ulric. Arrived only a few days ago. Boarding at the Bloody Dagger. And he’s probably on his way here now.”

Ignis shot to his feet, hands fisted on the tabletop. Fought back the panic at the possibility of being caught unawares. “He knows I’ve arrived?”

“No. He left some weapons for Biggs to treat with a toxin dangerous to vampires.”

Ignis’s hands curled into fists. He knew of such toxin. Had used it in the past. Made vampires easier to kill. The thought of this Nyx Ulric utilizing such a method against Noctis ignited his rage. Well, two can play at this game.

“Where is your toxin stored?” he demanded.

“What? You can’t use it against a Bloodhound,” Aranea protested. “They’re immu—” The heavy thud of footsteps overhead cut her off. A chime echoed, pitifully small from where they sat. “Dammit,” she swore. “Let me handle this. For your prince’s sake, don’t creep on the stairs to try and listen. He’ll sniff you out before you get the chance to even _try_ using the toxin.”

Ignis clenched his teeth. He knew she was right. “Then I must hide somewhere he can’t find me.”

Aranea rose from her chair so fast, it toppled to the floor. Ignis heard something heavy being thrust aside, the sharp echo of a metal ring. “Here,” she said hastily. Ignis followed her voice, hand outstretched in anticipation of her grabbing him. “I keep my iron ingots stored down here. Should be enough to mask your scent if you stay close to them.”

Ignis bowed his head, allowed Aranea to guide his hands to the ladder. Once he secured his footing, he descended just as Aranea let the lid fall with a clatter of metal rings and creaking wood. He waited until her hurried footsteps faded before turning from the ladder.

Alone in the pitch black, foreign room, Ignis moved slowly, both hands out as he felt for objects blocking his path. The strong smell of iron and other metals saturated the air. The aroma worked its way into his nostrils and down his throat. He swallowed to ease the sensation of having ingested pure iron. It only made the taste more pronounced. Brought on feelings of nausea. He bit his bottom lip, teeth grazing the scar there and bringing up a brief but poignant memory of Noctis’s kiss before it retreated to the recesses of his mind. Ignis shivered for more reasons than the chilly cellar.

At finding a break in the ingot piles, Ignis went to a knee. Cocked his ear toward the ceiling, desperately trying to identify sounds from above. No good. Not even his enhanced hearing pierced the walls separating him from his quarry. Frustration had him drive his fist into the floor. What was happening upstairs? Would he know if Aranea was in danger? Would he be able to muster a counter if Nyx Ulric surprised him? Fewer things frustrated Ignis more than lack of knowledge.

Time dragged. He kept his face upturned so long, a nagging ache developed in the back of his neck. He ignored it as readily as the unease creeping its way into his heart and mind. Something was wrong. The need to investigate pervaded every fiber of his being. He started to rise, hand braced on the cold, dust-covered floor-

_Ignis._

Noctis’s voice froze him in place. Ignis jerked his head to the right, to the left. Had he not heard his prince before, he’d credit the utter silence of the cellar to this auditory hallucination.  
Which, much to his complete shock, suddenly turned into a _visual_ hallucination.

Ignis stared, disbelieving, as a silhouette manifested against the underside of his blindfold, body limned in light the same color as Noctis’s eyes. The abrupt reintroduction to color brought forth a choked sound bordering on a sob. Ignis’s hands shook as he reached for his face, fingertips grazing the blindfold. As he lowered it, the blurred silhouette suddenly transformed into a definitive shape. 

Tears filled his eyes. For standing not a few feet before him was his prince, absent from his side and his bed these long years. His features shifted in and out of focus, preventing Ignis from creating a flawless picture in his mind. Only his eyes remained unchanged.

Noctis gazed down at him with such intense longing, Ignis felt himself coming undone from it. 

“Noct,” he whispered, voice breaking over his name. He extended a hand, fingers desperately seeking to touch the hand of the man he loved. Was this a manifestation of his power? 

_They’re coming, Ignis._

“Who?” Ignis inched closer to the shimmering figure, more dream than reality, save the pleading gaze that shattered his heart. “Who’s coming?”

Noctis’s gaze darted to the right. _Hurry back to me._

The brilliant blue of his eyes faded, as did his outline. Ignis cried out, “No, please- don’t leave,” and lunged forward, arms open. 

He caught only air. 

The sharp sound of Ignis’s ragged breathing echoed in his ears as the familiar darkness veiled his eyes. He sat there, upper body hunched, trembling from head to foot. Everything in him demanded he return to Noctis. Ignis’s hands snapped closed. A scream born of anguish and need and fear clawed at his throat, seeking release. 

The clang of metal rings on the hatch prevented the scream from escaping. Brought him back to himself. His mission. If the danger Noctis spoke of pertained to Nyx, then he’d ensure the Bloodhound would not leave town alive.

Once he’d calmed, he fixed the blindfold back into place and rose to his feet. He found the ladder easily, ascending it in a few swift strides and emerging into the room. A sharp gasp from Aranea indicated she’d been taken aback by the abrupt way he brushed past her.

“Ignis? Where do you think you’re going?” She caught his arm. He shook her off, but she grabbed him again, her grip like iron. “Hey. Talk to me.” 

The genuine concern in her tone reached him through the haze of desperation. With a sigh, he revealed what he saw in the storage cellar. 

“Sounds as if he projected himself to you,” Aranea murmured. “Haven’t heard of any Lucian vampires capable of that.”

Ignis had no time to debate on the rarity of Noctis’s new abilities. “I cannot delay here,” he said, slipping free from Aranea’s grasp, which had lessened during his telling. “I must deal with Nyx Ulric quickly. Has he returned to the Bloody Dagger?”

“He didn’t say directly.” Aranea paused. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to kill him in town. After what you said to me?”

“I have little concern for the rules at this moment, Aranea.” Ignis’s voice was rough. “Noctis needs me. All I need from you is your cooperation and a vial of the vampire toxin.”

Aranea fell silent. Ignis felt the weight of her gaze on him. He did not look away as he did before. He stood over her, waiting for an answer. 

“I gotta say, Ignis,” she said, her tone wry but approving. “That Bloodhound won’t know what’s killing him until long after you’ve slashed his throat.”

Ignis inclined his head, all the acknowledgement he’d give for her compliment. Time was of the essence. “I presume this means you will help me?”

At this, she laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Of course. A blood debt for a blood debt, after all. Biggs, Wedge!” she called, the sharp elevation of her voice causing Ignis to wince. He heard the collective echo of boots hurrying to a stop at the top of the stairs. Eagerness laced her next words.

“Bring the delivery cart around. Cram it full of supplies. We’re about to smuggle a hunter-killer into the Bloody Dagger.”


	5. On the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis infiltrates the Bloody Dagger in search of Nyx Ulric, and finds more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A REVISED CHAPTER
> 
> I apologize for those of you who have read this, but parts of the previous entry just didn't mesh with the story I was trying to tell.

While Ignis wanted nothing more than to infiltrate the Bloody Dagger and dispatch the Bloodhound so he could return to Noctis, he wasn’t so foolish as to go in unprepared. And, as Biggs and Wedge needed time to scrounge up enough supplies to present a valid delivery, he took the time to question Aranea further.

They sat at a table in the rear of the shop, the echo of the creaking water wheel at their backs, the subtle cooing of chocobos at the fore as Biggs readied harness and reins. Wedge’s voice sounded to the right, a low rumble of discontent as he conversed with the owner of the local distillery.

“Some trouble procuring supplies from him?” Ignis asked when their conversation was once again interrupted by exasperated complaining. 

Aranea gave an irritated sigh. “More like trouble getting it from his supplier. His shop is on the main road from the west. Lot of talk about shipments being stolen.”

Ignis didn’t miss the geographical reference. He frowned thoughtfully. “And wagons are likely easy prey to the rabble rousers causing trouble for their vampire masters.”

“Nothing fuels a rabble better than alcohol,” Aranea replied in cynical tones. “And the desire to kill their vampire masters, after all. You might want to keep this in mind when you’re done here.”

Ignis bowed his head. A discussion for a later date, preferably once he and Noctis were reunited. His heart fairly leaped at the thought. For now, however, focus was needed. “What of the loading bay? I assume I will have to enter through the rear.” 

Aranea acknowledged his assumption with an assent. “The account clerk has an office by the loading bay. While Wedge oversees the delivery and payment, you sneak in. You’ll know it by the smell of ink, trust me.”

“What then? I will need to make my way to the boarding rooms.”

“Lucky for you, there’s a stairwell in the clerk’s office. Leads right to the upper floor. Owner usually sends all his important boarders up there. Nyx Ulric’s room is definitely on this floor.”

“And what of Nyx himself?” Ignis asked. “Give me as much detail as you can. I cannot afford to make a mistake in identifying him.”

Aranea murmured her agreement. “You’ve been around vampires for years, so you know them by presence, right?”

“I do.”

“Well, forget all that,” she said. “Bloodhounds don’t present the same way. They can slip past even the most observant vampires. It’s what makes them so effective against us.”

“A disadvantage I will not have,” Ignis said, and Aranea grunted at the frankness of his tone. “His footsteps are what will identify him to me, or if he carries items that rattle when he walks.”

“Actually,” Aranea said thoughtfully. “He _does_ carry a satchel at his belt. Just out of sight, but just within reach.”

Ignis sat up straighter. “Anything capable of creating noise?”

“Glass bottles. It isn’t a lot to go on, I know,” she said, as if sensing Ignis’s disappointment. “Can’t give you much more than that.” 

“Regardless, I truly appreciate what you are doing for me. More than you can ever know.” 

She ‘hmphed,’, the gruff affection undeniable. “Just do me a favor and don’t get yourself killed. I don’t want to be the one who explains _that_ to your prince when he wakes up.”

Moved by her sincerity, Ignis offered her a small smile. She laid a hand on his wrist. Gentle, supportive. But then Biggs called to her, the moment fled, and Aranea signaled the end of their conversation with a tired sigh. 

“Looks like I need to help convince that owner of the urgency of this delivery. Ah,” she added, a note of interest in her voice. “Biggs has the toxin ready. He’ll meet you inside the shop. Feel free to help yourself to a few extra weapons,” she said as she walked past him. Her bootheels crunched along the rocky ground. “Never can have too many when you’re up against a Bloodhound.”

Ignis smiled his appreciation at her generosity, then headed for the shop. The sound of an expectant ‘ah,’ indicated Biggs waited for him in the doorway. “Follow me- er, my footsteps,” Biggs said, giving a nervous laugh Ignis excused. “Got it in the back.”

Ignis shadowed the other man. “Is it as potent as I asked?” 

“Triple the strength,” Biggs answered with no small amount of pride in his work. There was the sound of a countertop being lifted, followed by what Ignis presumed was Biggs rummaging through shelves. “Here you are.”

Ignis opened his hand. Biggs pressed a vial into his palm, smaller than the one he used to seal his own blood for Noctis’s consumption. A jagged scar on the inside of his arm remained, a permanent reminder of the last time they were together. Ignis did not know how often he’d traced that scar, and the one on his lip, while lost in a reverie.

He weighed the vial in his hand. A few ounces, if that. Odorless, for which he was thankful. A Bloodhound’s ability to detect scents was on par, if not better, than a vampire’s. “Is this all you could craft?”

“Runnin’ low on ingredients for that type of toxin. Vampire hunts been on the rise, as you probably already know,” he said as Ignis carefully applied some to the ends of his daggers. “Can’t guarantee it’ll kill him. Might only slow him down.”

Ignis bowed his head. An incapacitated Bloodhound was a better option than one at full strength. He thanked Biggs for making it, then asked after weapons. 

“Got some on the wall behind me. Help yourself.”

Ignis thanked him again, approached the wall. He sensed Biggs hovering as he ran his hand along the displayed weapons. Fingers crawled along the smooth exteriors of gun barrels and sword hilts before resting upon a pair of small boot knives. One of the hunters he’d trained with favored weapons of this kind. Decided, Ignis palmed the knives. As a physical struggle was inevitable, he’d accept any advantage available to him. 

Once he applied the toxin to the boot knives and secured them, he tucked the vial into the small pocket sewn into the inseam of his pants. Now that he was properly armed, all his thoughts shifted to the task at hand. 

“This will do,” he said to Biggs. “I appreciate your assistance.”

“Good luck against the Bloodhound,” he said, sincerity and a touch of concern highlighting his words. 

Ignis nodded, then took his leave. 

Aranea was directing Wedge on loading the last of the items when Ignis arrived. The scrape of heels on stone indicated Aranea turned at his approach. “Everything’s set. Wedge will let you know when it’s safe to sneak inside.” He felt her eyes on him. “Are you ready?” 

Ignis’s grip tightened on the hilt of his dagger. Anticipation quickened his heartbeat, loosed adrenaline into his blood. Thought of Noctis lying in wait, the threat of danger to his life. The burning need to be at his side as soon as possible.

“Ready.”

Aranea seemed to consider him in silence. She patted his shoulder in silent farewell and stepped aside. Ignis allowed her to guide his hand to the edge of the wagon before he ascended. Wedge directed him to lie down with his knees to his chest. As soon as he was situated, Ignis heard the snap of heavy tarp. It didn’t take long for the air to grow stifling. Only the vision of Noctis’s pleading eyes, the distress in his voice at urging Ignis’s return, kept the discomfort at bay. His focus sharp.

There came the sound of knuckles rapping the side- Aranea most likely- before Wedge flicked the reins. The chocobos responded with characteristic warbles, and the wagon lurched forward. Ignis steadied himself by holding onto a box near his shoulder. The sharp aroma of tobacco wafted through the sides. Ignis refrained from coughing.

As the wagon jolted down the road, the echo of its wheels churning up rocks and dirt loud to the point of pain, Ignis concentrated on a plan. Getting inside the boarding house presented little issue. Aranea’s instructions were clear. The problem lay in how he’d best subdue Ulric. At best, he’d catch him asleep. At worst…well, Ignis had never heard of anyone escaping an encounter with a Bloodhound. The lack of information irked him, but there was little he could do about it. Whatever the case, he’d need all his skills. Too much depended on his success. Failure never crossed his mind. 

The wagon proceeded at an ungainly pace. The rumble of passing vehicles and chocobos hinted at a busy intersection. Part of the tarp came undone behind him. Ignis lifted his head as high as he dared, breathing in what little fresh air passed through. Sounds of a busy settlement drifted in and out, becoming so much garbled noise Ignis gave up trying to identify all he heard.  
Something grazed the top of the tarp: Wedge’s signal they were nearing the Bloody Dagger. Ignis pressed himself as flat as possible. Hoped the boxes around him distorted the lay of the tarp enough to hide his shape. 

As the wagon slowed to a stop, Ignis sharpened his senses. Without the persistent echo of creaking wheels, he picked out the sounds of approaching footsteps. Surprised voices called out to Wedge- clearly the staff wasn’t expecting the delivery. Wedge’s reply was as quick as it was brilliant.

“The lady came into some supplies early. Now stop gawkin’ and let’s get this done.”

Ignis went still. Refrained from jerking his head sharply to the right when Wedge shouted for the worker to get away from the wagon. 

“Looked like something shifted,” the man said. 

“Never mind that,” Wedge replied, irritated. “Just let the clerk know I’m here. Lady A isn’t feeling patient today.”

Ignis exhaled as the wagon resumed moving. His own hot breath swirled around his face. 

The sense he moved backward indicated Wedge had shifted the wagon into the delivery bay. Another voice called out to Wedge, annoyance in his tone at the interruption. Wedge fired back a retort that brought a faint smile of approval to Ignis’s lips. It seemed Aranea’s temperament was well known here. The urgent press of a hand near his back, followed by the release of ropes securing the tarp, alerted Ignis. It was time.

Wedge kept up a steady stream of commentary as he pulled the tarp back. The introduction of fresh air filled Ignis’s lungs, serving to cast off his lethargy. Securing the edge of the wagon with his leg, he lifted himself out slowly, gauging the distance of those nearby based on the sound of their voices. Once he lay flat on the hard, mud-caked ground, he released his hold on the wagon. Remained still, relying on the black cloak he wore to provide extra cover as he tried to pick out the scent of ink determining the clerk’s office. But then someone opened a door, presumably leading into the kitchens, flooding the room with the scent of cooking food. Ignis clenched his teeth. Unless he lay within arm’s reach of an inkwell, it would prove difficult for him to separate the smells dominating the air now. He needed to find the office, fast.

Something kicked his boot heel. Ignis’s instinctive counter was checked by the sound of Wedge’s voice.

“How many times do I gotta tell you? What she wants is to the right, I said. The _right._ ” 

As a worker answered with an aggrieved reply, Ignis quickly understood the directions were for his benefit. Sending silent thanks to Wedge, he crawled along the floor, keeping one hand on the wagon to ensure he had adequate cover. Just as his fingers scraped along the front wheel, he identified the scent of ink. He drew a deep breath, then darted inside.

Once he cleared the doorway, Ignis pushed himself to his knees, hands extended as he felt for obstacles. He edged past a chair, a chest of drawers, before coming upon an open doorway. The air here carried a different aroma: soap, the strong scent of cleaning products, feather beds. Ignis paused to ensure no one lingered by the office entrance. Then he started up the stairs. 

The chill in the air gave way for the warmth generated from hearths. Muffled voices drifted from below: animated conversation, the ring of dishes, and, down the hall, the rise and fall of conversation from occupied rooms. He reached out with his left hand, contacting a thick, wooden railing. He kept low and out of sight from the main floor, one hand trailing along the wall as he felt for doorways. Without knowing what Ulric sounded like or what room he occupied, Ignis was reduced to eavesdropping. The first two rooms offered him nothing. The third, however, echoed of the frantic creak of a bed, a man’s throaty groan, his partner’s lusty cry. 

Ignis quickened his pace, determined to put the sounds of shared passion as far from his mind as possible. This was not the time to allow ten years’ worth of unslaked desire undo him. The mission. Think of the mission. Don’t think of-

_The scent of clean air filling his lungs as he gasped for breath. They lay upon a grassy knoll, Noctis’s body pressed flush to his, the heat of his mouth at his throat chasing the chill from his skin. Ignis holds fast to him, the potent sensations flooding his body leaving him weak but overjoyed. He buries his face against Noctis’s shoulder, breaths quickening as the prince’s thrusts do. Fingers dig into the skin of his arms, hastening his coming release. But he holds back, wanting to savor the moment Noctis drinks from him. The intensity of orgasm, accompanied by the sensation of Noctis’s teeth and tongue, knowing it was his blood that sustains him, created a level of intimacy Ignis knew he’d never find with anyone else._

_Noctis’s teeth graze the skin at his neck. Ignis angles his head back, lips parting on a keening moan at hearing a husky, desire-filled voice whisper his name…_

“Hey! What the hell are you doin’?”

The angry demand snapped Ignis back to reality. As he whirled around, still momentarily dazed by the visuals lingering in his memory, the distracting tightness in his pants, a sharp gasp sounded, followed by a sword pulled from its sheath.

“You! Murdering bastard!”

Ignis froze. Though it had been ten years since he last heard this voice, there was no mistaking it. This hunter had been present the night he was blinded. The night he nearly lost Noctis. 

Rage colored the darkness of his vision in recalled shades of red. Ignis launched himself at the hunter, hands latching around a fistful of a shirt rank of sweat and alcohol. The force of his movement sent both to the floor. They struggled in the doorway before a large fist struck Ignis’s cheek. His head snapped to the right. Disoriented from the blow, he felt the man slip from under him. With a roar, Ignis lunged. They grappled again, Ignis managing to wrap the man’s legs up with his own. The hard shove against his face, no doubt intended to push him off, knocked Ignis aside instead. As he grabbed at the man, he felt the hilt of a dagger rubbing against his knuckles. Ignis wrenched it free, then plunged the blade into the meat of the hunter’s thigh. The impact resulted in a pained scream Ignis silenced by clamping a hand over his mouth. 

He leaned over him, breathing hard, hand shaking in place, spit and blood from his enemy moistening his palm. 

“Where is the Bloodhound?” Ignis demanded in a sharp rasp.

The man responded with a garbled curse.

Ignis’s hand curled around the dagger in the man’s thigh. Repeated the question as he applied pressure to the wound. 

His enemy jerked in place beneath him, his agony apparent. But then he seized a chunk of Ignis’s hand between his teeth and bit, hard. The jolt of pain forced Ignis’s hand open. As the man attempted to throw him aside, Ignis brought the heel of his palm onto the hunter’s nose. The echo of shattering bone, accompanied by the feel of blood spilling onto his hand, seemed distant things compared to the pained cry echoing between them. 

Ignis grabbed the man’s lower face with his bloody hand. Squeezed his jaw with as much strength as he could muster. Saliva leaked from the man’s pursed mouth. 

“Tell me.”

A tense moment passed. Two. Ignis clenched his teeth. The hand at the dagger trembled. Just as he prepared to twist it in place, the man begged him to stop. Tears thickened his voice.

Ignis waited.

A shuddering sob. “Third floor,” the man moaned. 

Ignis thanked him by driving his dagger into the hunter’s throat. He gave a strangled sound, then went limp.

The adrenaline waned, reminding Ignis of the sharp sting on his palm. Lack of time to properly clean and bandage it led him to slicing a section of his shirt off. After binding the wound, Ignis located the bed and shoved the body under it. Tossing the bloodied weapon on the bed, he turned toward the door. 

A fist drove itself into his midsection. Breath escaping him in a ragged wheeze, Ignis had no choice but to sink to his knees.

The creak of leather, accompanied by bootheels tapping the floor, sounded to his left. Strong fingers curled into the strands of his hair. Ignis hissed in pain as his head was forced back. There was a low grunt, as if his assailant came to an internal conclusion, before the grip on his hair tightened.

“The infamous hunter-killer.” The man’s voice was low, edged with a rasp. “The king has decided it’s time you know your place.”

Any questions Ignis may have had, any counter attack he may have chosen, was lost to him when a large hand closed around his throat. His mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp. The Bloodhound leaned over him, the combined scent of leather and blood saturating his senses, the aura of power he exhibited greater than any vampire he’d ever met. Ignis clawed at the Bloodhound’s hand, desperate for air, desperate to ask him what he meant by what he said. 

But then a shimmering glow appeared in the corner of his eye. A silhouette outlined in blue the same shade as Noctis’s eyes. Pain and fear passed across a face he couldn’t piece together. 

_Ignis!_

The desperation behind Noctis’s voice cut through Ignis as readily as a sharpened blade. Instinct took over then, instinct and the desire to survive, to see his prince again.

Ignis grabbed onto Ulric’s hands. A surge of adrenaline propelled him to his feet so fast, the Bloodhound could do nothing but stagger back. Releasing a sound somewhere between demented and determined, Ignis threw all his weight against the Bloodhound. He grunted in irritation, then surprise when Ignis felt his upper body bend backward. Ignis, having no knowledge of the room’s layout, expected to slam Nyx Ulric into the wall. But then there was the sound of shattered glass, a rush of wind, before it seemed invisible hands grabbed at the Bloodhound. The fingers at Ignis’s throat loosened. Just as he went to break free, Ulric grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

When he fell out of the window, he took Ignis with him.


	6. Test of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis's battle against Nyx Ulric leads to troubling revelations concerning Noctis's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in updating this fic. Work has been killer and I'm planning a one-shot for ignoct week. I hope you enjoy the chapter, everyone!

The rush of air deafened him. With the absence of sound, the world drifted away, a terrifying prospect for a man who needed sound and touch to navigate his way through life. Another force took over, a helpless anticipation preceding an event well beyond his ability to stop. As this force dragged at him, Ignis’s desire to live strengthened. 

Glass shards cut his face. Pain resonated from each new wound. Ignis ignored it, along with the pull of fingers at the front of his cloak, as he sought the Bloodhound’s shoulders. A fall from this height, while not fatal, would still incapacitate him. So he intended to use the Bloodhound to limit the damage. 

Their bodies collided with a solid surface. They rolled along an incline, scattering tiles in their wake as they grappled. Ignis’s head snapped back when an errant fist struck his chin. He retaliated by clawing at the Bloodhound’s face. But then the incline disappeared beneath them, leaving them at the mercy of gravity once more. 

Ignis flung an arm out. His fingers grazed, then curled, around the rough edge of an overhang. Momentum compelled his body to swing at a downward arc. He brought his feet up, found purchase along the wall. As the echo of his heavy breathing eased, he became aware of activity below: people calling out in surprise, the creak of wagons, the nervous cries of chocobos. Ignis gripped the edge with both hands, teeth clenched as he lifted himself onto the roof. 

A strong hand forced his fingers loose. The sharp ring of metal had him duck to avoid what he expected to be a knife slash. Planting his left leg firmly against the side of the wall, Ignis lashed out with a kick that, had he been on solid ground, would have been devastating. Instead, he settled for the telltale give of his heel sinking into a chest, the grunt of pain his enemy issued. It gave him only a second or two to act. 

Yanking his dagger free with his right hand while half-dangling from his left, Ignis thrust the weapon between them. His assumption proved correct: the blade sliced into flesh. It wasn’t deep, but it drew blood. Splatters struck Ignis’s hand. Rough fingers threaded into his hair. Strength Ignis had no ability to resist forced his head forward. When his brow struck the edge, the steady darkness of his vision fractured. The Bloodhound trapped him thus, grip so strong, Ignis felt him draw blood from where his fingernails sank into his scalp. 

Under this assault, Ignis’s left hand loosened. His boot heel gradually slid down the wall. Desperation drove Ignis to flip the dagger in his hand and stab upward. As it was more a distraction tactic than a true killing move, the instant Ignis felt the Bloodhound release his head, he followed up with a kick to his enemy’s leg. The sound of a body striking the wall prompted Ignis’s next move.

Knowing they couldn’t simply hang here forever, Ignis threw himself at the Bloodhound, arms snaking around the other man’s broad-shouldered frame. Seemingly unprepared for this tactic, Ulric lost his hold on the edge. As they descended, Ignis pressed his face to Ulric’s back, bracing himself for impact. 

They hit ground hard. There was the echo of panicked screams as the force behind their landing sent both men flying. Ignis covered his face with his arms as momentum propelled him forward. Clumps of dirt irritated the wounds on his face, coated his lips. Something much less pleasant made it into his mouth. The dizzying, sickening tumble came to an abrupt halt when he collided with a wood pile. The hollow clatter of displaced wood echoed sharply in his ears. A few struck the back of his neck, jarring his senses. 

As the wood pile stilled around him, Ignis detected the swift approach of footsteps. A strong kick to his stomach nearly lifted him off the ground. An even stronger hand pried the dagger from his hand. Ignis could do nothing but give a pained gasp before Ulric grabbed him by the back of the hood and jerked him into an upright position. Positioned as he was, half choked by his own cloak, Ignis clawed at the material with one hand, his other searching the ground for a weapon. His fingers scraped the jagged edge of a split log, which he used to strike Ulric on the head. The Bloodhound grunted his surprise, then pain when Ignis followed up by throwing his head back into the other man’s face. The echo of crunching bone indicated he’d struck Ulric’s nose. At feeling his attacker’s hands loosen, Ignis seized him by the shoulders and, with a loud cry, lobbed him over his head. He shot to his feet just as Ulric’s body hit ground. Freeing himself from the cloak- he wasn’t going to leave himself open like that again- Ignis yanked his remaining dagger free, focused on the choking gasps from his enemy, and lunged.

A man’s enraged yell halted him in his tracks. 

“It’s him! He’s tanglin’ with a Bloodhound!”

Stampeding footsteps rang into the air as the man’s cry summoned a crowd. The sudden onslaught of noise triggered Ignis’s instinctive need to detect and determine each sound. It proved costly.

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, his right arm pinned over his head, strong fingers digging into his wrist with enough force to cause pain. Muscled legs kept him in place at the waist. Ignis squirmed beneath the Bloodhound’s weight, but to little avail. 

Ulric bent over, his hot breath stinging Ignis’s nostrils. Blood dripped onto his face. “They told me you were clever.” His voice was a raspy growl, affected by the broken nose. “The hunter-killer, renowned, hated, feared. Good enough for royalty. I wonder,” he said, and there was a new note in his voice, one that set all the hair on the back of Ignis’s neck upright. “Will your flesh taste as good to me as your blood did to _him_?”

Ignis froze. What precious little knowledge the hunters accumulated regarding Bloodhounds distilled to one fact: absence of remains. As Ulric leaned in closer, fairly salivating now, and the crowd responded with raucous cheers at the spectacle, understanding swept through Ignis like a blaze. His mind tormented him with visions of Noctis wakening to find him gone. The horror and anguish at learning his fate, the reality of facing the threat to his life unprotected. The tremor of fear shaking his resolve swiftly turned to steely determination. He’d not leave Noctis alone.

Adrenaline-fueled desperation surged through him. Ignis waited until Ulric was poised as if to tear his throat out before boxing the Bloodhound’s ear with his left hand. As Ulric staggered, Ignis drove his dagger into the Bloodhound’s side. When he felt Ulric’s body teeter to the right, Ignis rolled with him, teeth clenched as he twisted the dagger. Blood spilled over his hand. 

They lay face to face, Ignis enduring the clumsy hand at his throat. Tremors wracked Ulric’s body, but be it from shock trauma or the effect of the high concentration of toxin, Ignis didn’t know. Didn’t question it. His focus was for the telltale signs of death. The rattle that meant he could leave this place and return to his prince.

A shot rang out, striking the ground perilously close to Ignis’s head and reminding him he had an armed audience. His lips drew back into a snarl. This was not the place to finish this. 

Wrenching the knife free, Ignis kicked Ulric away with all the strength he had before rolling to his feet. Ignoring the surprised murmur sweeping the crowd, Ignis detected the nervous warble of chocobos. He bolted for the paddock just as a few hunters opened fire. Someone shouted for the town guard.

How Ignis managed to avoid getting hit, select a mount that wasn’t reduced to a flurry of ruffled feathers or frightened cries and ride out, was something he credited more to dumb luck than true skill. The bird’s natural survival instinct ensured his escape. 

Once assured he’d put enough distance between himself and the Bloody Dagger, Ignis grabbed the reins, redirected the bird’s path. If memory served him correctly, the northeast exit lay nearby. Normally, such an escape route would only expose him to the hunters actively seeking to collect on the contract. In this, his being hunted by a Bloodhound worked in his favor. No hunter ever challenged a Bloodhound, even if they shared a target. Satisfied he’d be spared any more interference, Ignis urged his mount faster. 

All sounds associated with the town fell away. Soon only his own heavy breathing echoed in his ears, the pounding of his bird’s feet against the dirt road, the jingle of clasps securing the saddle. After another mile of hard riding, he drew back on the reins. The bird jerked to a stop with a rustle of wings. Ignis slid off the saddle and headed into the woods. Tracks would not help him now. Behind him, the chocobo issued an almost relieved sound before scurrying away.

He walked until his legs felt too heavy to lift. Aches and pains he’d overlooked during his skirmish with Ulric slowed him further. It was enough to convince him to assess his injuries. The echo of flowing water indicated his proximity to a brook. Ignis followed the sound, stepping carefully, an arm outstretched for obstacles. The scent of wet earth combined with slime permeated the air. This did little to encourage him on the water quality, but any water was better than none at this point.

Walking until his boots sank a few inches into the mud, Ignis knelt, peeled the makeshift bandage from his hand, and dragged it through the silken, yet cold water. He focused on gently rubbing the dirt free rather than the temperature. Once he’d cleaned it as best he could, Ignis inspected his palm with tentative fingers. Bits of torn skin around the teeth marks were sensitive to the touch. Ignis frowned as he bound it once again. As he’d neglected to bring any antidotes, he could only pray the hunter hadn’t infected him. 

He laid a hand over the waistband of his pants, fingers searching for and locating the outline of the vial. Good. It was still intact. And, if his hunch was correct, the deciding factor in their next encounter. His hold tightened over it. It _had_ to be. Ignis refused to believe otherwise. Not when Noctis had reached out to him twice already. 

He frowned, even as the all-too familiar ache settled in the corner of his heart. Now that he knew Ulric’s true purpose here, who was Noctis referring to? The idea of an enemy on the inside was laughable. The court reserved their misgivings for Ignis himself, not the prince. From what Ignis understood, Noctis was well loved by his kind, even if they didn’t wholly understand him. 

So why did Ulric say that about the king? Was it just a remark meant to introduce doubt, or did it carry a deeper meaning? The implications created a hairline fracture in Ignis’s faith in King Regis, one that shamed him. _No,_ he thought, shaking his head as if the act itself transferred to the doubt. King Regis would not willingly send Ignis into danger. 

The woods fell silent. Ignis stiffened. Anticipation crawled along his skin. His fingers twitched as he thought about how swiftly he could draw his weapon. And, as the first sensation of the blade sinking into his shoulder stole breath and sense from him, it was already too late to defend himself. Shock was brief, for when the weapon was cruelly twisted inside him and yanked free, Ignis released a guttural cry of pain. 

A heavy boot planted itself on the site of his injury. Ignis fell forward, landing in inch deep water that concealed nearly the entirety of the left side of his face. A rough hand held his head still. As Ignis struggled to turn his face away, muddy water slipped past his lips and into his nose. The blindfold quickly grew saturated. 

A hand skimmed along the curve of his shoulder, a mocking caress. “I could drown you, right here,” Ulric murmured. “It wouldn’t be the first time I ate a bloated corpse.” His voice shook, as if in the throes of ecstasy. The hand on Ignis’s shoulder now trailed along his arm. When he bent it at a sharp angle against his back, Ignis cried out again. Ulric chuckled low in his throat.

“Never would I believe a human, and a blind one at that, could injure me. But you did. You are a worthy adversary. It’s almost a shame I have to kill you.”

Ignis shifted in place, wanting to relieve the pressure of rocks digging into his hand. As he did, he realized he still gripped the poison vial. Slowly, he worked it toward the opening in his seam. 

Sagging for Ulric’s benefit, Ignis expelled the breath he’d been holding. The water trembled around his lips. “By whose…command?” 

His answer was to be partially submerged. While not long, it was enough to summon panic over the inability to breathe. Ulric lifted Ignis’s head from the muck, laughing as the other man drew in noisy gulps of air.

“You don’t know?” Ulric spoke with cruel amusement.

The vial rested just at the opening now. “Explain,” Ignis said in ragged tones.

Ulric didn’t acknowledge the venom dripping from Ignis’s words. Nor did he seem aware of the slight movements of his hand beneath him. “Everything you know, everything you love, is all because of my liege. As is your death.” He leaned in close, his breath tickling Ignis’s ear. “I can still smell it on you. Smell _him_ on you. I saw you there before, writhing like a bitch in heat. I’ll make it slow. You’ll need time to remember how much you miss the prince fucking you.” 

Outrage at being witnessed during such a vulnerable moment burned through Ignis. Had he the strength afforded him by his anger, he would make the Bloodhound pay for speaking such things. But he said nothing, merely appeared defeated. 

Ulric uttered a sound that was part lusty, part animal-like, before he flipped Ignis over. Straddled him as he had before, putting his full weight on Ignis’s abdomen and threatening to drive the breath from him. Grabbed hold of Ignis’s shirt and pulled him closer. He sniffed at Ignis, as if savoring his scent, before forcing his head to the side. Disgust at feeling a tongue not belonging to his prince slither along his skin set him trembling. But still he maintained the façade of surrender. 

An anticipatory groan emerged from Ulric’s throat as he pressed his fangs to Ignis’s neck. The wince was involuntary. The pain great as the Bloodhound bit into him. Ignis fought through the paralyzing fear. The loss of his awareness. And when Ulric released him with a loud, wet sound, Ignis took the vial in hand and shoved it into his open mouth. Unprepared for this, Ulric’s teeth closed around Ignis’s fingers like a steel trap. Though the pain dulled his senses, Ignis felt the vial crack, then break open. Ulric’s body seized.

Ignis rolled them both over, keeping his enemy pinned at the chest. Blood from the wound at his neck trailed down his skin to soak the collar of his shirt. There would be no tender administrations to heal this scar. 

His hands found their way to Ulric’s throat. “Who is your liege?” he demanded, trembling with renewed fury. “Why did he send you after me?”

Ulric’s answer was a rasping cough. The foul stench of his breath washed over Ignis, the iron of blood, the chemical compounds of the toxin. “…clever,” he gasped. His words sounded trapped in his throat. “…so clever…”

Sensing the ingested toxin quickly working its way through the Bloodhound’s system, Ignis shook him. “Answer my question. I’ll ensure your end is quick.”

A gurgling laugh. “…doesn’t matter. Already on his way. The prince…” Ulric drew in a wheezing breath. 

Ignis’s grip tightened. Fear cast his heart in stone. “What of him?” He felt Ulric’s body slackening beneath him. Shook him again, violently. “Tell me,” he said through clenched teeth.

Ulric gasped weakly. “You can ask him…” 

Several tense seconds passed where Ignis could do nothing but listen to Ulric’s gradually slowing intakes of breath. Worry and panic and fear ravaged his heart. So attuned to his internal struggles, he did not become aware of the fingers digging into the wound on his shoulder until it was too late.

Ignis jerked in place, agony tearing through him as Ulric dragged his fingernails along the torn flesh. Heard his enemy give a soft, satisfied groan.

“In the beyond…”

Ignis had scant seconds to register Ulric’s words before his mind fractured under the cruel onslaught of his wound being torn into. The world fell away, leaving him trapped in a prison of pain. But Ulric’s waning strength did not support his intent. Ignis heard the Bloodhound grunt and growl, each sound raspier than the last. At feeling the hand slip away from his injury, Ignis seized his dagger and drove it into the Bloodhound’s throat. The blade struck the ground behind his head with a soft _thud_. Ulric sputtered, his words dying away as the last of his breath faded. He fell slack.

Ignis yanked the dagger free with a shuddering sigh. The collected injuries chose that moment to flare, leaving him hunched over. Shaking from exhaustion, relief, and honest surprise, Ignis slowly lifted himself off the body. He stood there, panting, conscious of the blood soaking the back of his shirt, the side of his neck. Dried blood cracked beneath his fingertips as he inspected the wound. The puncture marks he expected to find were absent. This was a bite intended to rend flesh. Understanding how closely he had come to becoming the Bloodhound’s latest kill made him light-headed. Leaving the body to be consumed by the animals of the forest, Ignis trudged back toward the road.

His injuries made the progress slow. Each step seemed to introduce yet another new ache. Ignis held his wounded shoulder, bottom lip vanishing between his teeth as he struggled to contain his groans. The want to lay down and rest was strong. Returning to town was a bad idea. He’d already asked too much of Aranea. His one recourse was to retreat into King Regis’s lands. Once there, Ignis would seek one of the many houses within its boundaries. There, he could rest, recover his strength. After that…

Sudden nausea cut into what promised to be warmer memories. Stumbling forward, Ignis dropped to his knees and vomited. Soon he was dry-heaving, the muscles of his abdomen rolling as his body instinctively sought to rid itself of the source of his distress. The act aggravated the injury sustained when Ulric kicked him. When he used his sleeve to wipe his mouth, he caught a whiff of the scent clinging to his skin. It went beyond the dirt and grime and sweat. This was the stench of sickness. 

A chill seeped into his very bones, contrasting with the feverish heat rising from his body. Had the Bloodhound poisoned him? If so, could he combat it with potions used during his time as a hunter? His mind turned to the alchemical components of common ingredients just as a wave of dizziness overcame him. Ignis collapsed, and all went deathly still. 

***

_The dagger gleamed as it arced through the air and buried itself in the hunter’s neck. His eyes bulged, his mouth dropped open, giving him a slack-jawed look. Disbelief, pain, and shock passed over his face as he groped for the shredded ruin of his neck. When his body hit the ground, torrents of red cascaded down either side of him to pool behind his shoulders._

_Ignis turned to his beloved prince. Starlit eyes once dulled by pain now flashed with awe, desire, before culminating into an expression of pure love. Ignis fought the compulsion to draw him into his arms, to lose himself in those eyes and the touch of those hands, those lips. They had to flee the area, immediately._

_Ignis offered his hand. “We must depart qui—”_

_There was the rush of hurried footsteps as men flashing weapons and torches burst onto the scene. Ignis couldn’t react fast enough, for shadowed figures latched onto Noctis’s shoulders. He flung a desperate look Ignis’s way just as the figures dragged him out of sight._

_Panic sent Ignis stumbling after him. “Noct!” he cried as strong arms wrapped him up from behind. Someone held his head as another brought a torch close to his face, singing the ends of his hair. The pungent odor hung in the air, a harrowing prelude of what was to come. Ignis’s heart pounded, fearing not for himself but Noctis, whose voice diminished with each passing second._

_As the torch bearer moved closer, Ignis braced for the pain to come. But when the man spoke, it was not the hunter’s voice he recalled from memory. This was a soft, cultured voice. A voice he’d only ever heard in praise of his good deeds, his care of Noctis._

Majesty…?

_No. Ignis jerked in his captor’s grasp. This was all wrong. King Regis didn’t blind him. He started to speak, to ask the king why, when the flames passed over his eyes. The pain was greater than memory allowed. Somehow, above the sound of his own screams, Ignis heard dark, amused laughter. Shivered as a powerful voice shook him to his very core._

**You will never see him again.**

***  
Ignis arched in place, lips parting on his prince’s name. Visions of the memory- nightmare- had him groping the air in desperate search for Noctis. Unknown voices sounded to either side, confusing him.

“…comin’ round now.”

“Bring me the potion, quickly.” 

Someone held Ignis’s chin. He jerked free, the hold too reminiscent of the nightmare. 

The hand returned to his chin, fingers gentle. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” 

Safe. _He_ had used that word. Ignis turned toward the voice. “Noct…?”

“No. But you’ll get to him a lot quicker if you drink this.”

Ignis felt a cup press to his lips. Realization his throat was parched compelled him to drink. Cool water splashed along his tongue, the strong scent of medicinal herbs helping to chase his disorientation away. After several swallows, he leaned his head back, too weary to keep it upright. 

A hand touched his shoulder. “Go back to sleep. Goodness knows you could use it.”

Something about the drawling voice pulled at Ignis’s memory. But the effects of the medicine took over, luring him back to the darkness. 

When Ignis next came to, the previous disorientation was absent. He took a moment to understand his surroundings: smooth sheets beneath him, a pillow at his neck. Bandages soaked in medicinal herbs wrapped around his shoulder. He grimaced at the lingering soreness before pushing himself into an upright position. As he did so, he detected a subtle aura in the air, one indicative of being inside a vampire’s home. Its owner’s presence existed all around him. The air fairly shuddered from it. 

A chair creaked beside him. “About time,” a voice said, fondness intertwined with a put-upon sense of responsibility. “Was starting to get bored just talking to myself.”

Ignis turned at the sound of her voice. “Aranea,” he greeted in a voice ragged from sleep. “How long has it been?”

“Three days. Whoa, take it easy,” she said, catching him by the arm when Ignis attempted to stand, his mind racing down dozens of paths generated by this revelation. “You were in bad shape. Hell, you still are. You might want to consider another day of rest, at least.”

“There’s no time.” Ignis stood, his wobbly legs immediately protesting the movement. He sank back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t stay. I must—” 

“Return to your prince, I know. I had to sit here and listen to you dream about him for three days.”

Heat warmed his cheeks. “I talked in my sleep?”

“It’s how we found you out there. Don’t worry. I’ve sworn everyone here to secrecy.” She touched his hand where it rested on his knee. “I don’t know how you did it, Ignis. You killed a damn Bloodhound. I think you’re the only one to do it.”

Ignis took no pride in surviving the encounter. “Doing so almost killed me,” he said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Winced at the sensitivity of the wound. “It was poison, correct? How did you discover the antidote?”

“Didn’t have to. Biggs had some in stock.”

He tilted his head at her. “I did not realize your clientele required a steady supply of Bloodhound anti-toxin.”

“Normally no. Biggs is just a collector of rare potions. Wedge always buys them whenever he travels out west. Speaking of Wedge,” she said, her tone and demeanor changing. She sounded hard. “While you were busy with Nyx Ulric, the town guard came across something of interest in the Bloody Dagger. Dead body sound familiar to you?” 

Ignis frowned. “The hunter found me. I had no choice but to kill him.”

“To hell with your reasons. Someone saw you do it. Worse, one of the workers said he saw you climb out of the wagon. Ratted Wedge out. So now the marshal won’t release him until I turn you in.”

Ignis felt her gaze on him. He tensed, wondering if perhaps he’d taxed their friendship too far. There was no denying her attachment to the two men she’d taken under her protection. But there was someone just as important to him. Someone he would never leave, for anything. 

“Aranea.” He spoke softly. “You know I cannot let them take me.”

Silence hung between them. Then Aranea clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Idiot. Have you been killing hunters for so long you’ve forgotten one of their rules? I don’t need your _body_ to satisfy them.”

“Ah.” He chided himself for misunderstanding her meaning. “Take my dagger. That should be sufficient. And pass my apologies to Wedge when he’s released.”

Aranea ‘hmphed’ as she stood. Ignis listened to her cross over to the other side of the room, presumably to collect his dagger. “I think he’s more upset with the worker. Never did like him much.”

Ignis cracked a wan smile. “All the same, I appreciate his assistance. And yours.”

“Just don’t make this a habit. I can’t spend all my time looking after lovesick hunter-killers. I have a business to run.”

“Noted.”

Aranea opened the door, called out to Biggs. Upon his arrival, he paused to extend his congratulations over Ignis’s surviving the fight against Nyx Ulric. Aranea sent him to fetch Wedge with a swift order. His heavy footsteps receded as he hastened to obey.

“As for you,” she said to Ignis. “You might want to consider a bath. You still stink of the Bloodhound.”

“I assume this is not a mere request.”

“It’s not,” she said forthrightly. “Bathroom is to the right. There’s some clean clothes in the wardrobe. They should fit. Their former owner was about your height.”

“Former?” Ignis quirked a brow.

“As in the previous owner of this house.” She laughed faintly. “Don’t think too much into it. Like I said, I have a business to run.” 

At sensing her readiness to depart, Ignis spoke her name. “There’s something else. Nyx Ulric mentioned his liege sent him here to kill me. That someone was after Noctis. Do you know anything of this?”

There was a long pause. Then Aranea exhaled. “Before I answer that, what do you know about the Lucis vampires and their Ascensions?”

“Precious little, I’m afraid,” he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Not even the hunters knew much outside of their influence over the night. And the vampires were of no assistance in the matter.”

“That makes sense,” Aranea said. “Didn’t want everyone knowing their little secret. Doesn’t stop the rumors, of course.”

Under the impression she was stalling, Ignis frowned. “Aranea…”

“All right. I don’t know any details about the Ascension itself. Only that your prince’s is of great importance to vampires. No one was counting on him having a human lover. My guess is they needed to do something about it.” 

A difficult truth hung in the air between them, matching the ill feeling settling into the bottom of his heart. He thought of King Regis’s words that night, their cryptic message unclear until now: _You are in danger._

_They’re coming, Ignis. Hurry back to me._

“Ignis?” Aranea’s voice broke through the paralyzing revelations gripping his mind. 

He turned his face toward her. “Tell me, Aranea. Please.” 

The silence seemed to stretch into infinity. But then Aranea eased onto the bed beside him. When she laced her fingers with his, Ignis knew then her words would not be easy for him to hear. He did not close his hand around hers, nor acknowledge the comfort she felt she needed to give. He felt nothing but dread. 

“I hate to break this to you, but word is your precious prince is the last of the Lucis vampires. He needs to Ascend, and you’re just in the way.” 


	7. Heavy Burdens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis returns to the Lucis ancestral retreat to confront the king. King Regis reflects on days past. Lord Ravus, master of Bloodhounds, learns of Nyx's fate and wants vengeance.

_Just in the way._

In all the years of Ignis’s life, first as a frightened orphan wandering the road, the memory of his parents’ murder fresh in his mind, to the intense training he endured as a hunter, to the gulf of years separating him from his beloved prince, nothing prepared him for the shock of those words.

Ignis sat as if frozen, hands curled on his knees, nostrils flared as he drew in several deep breaths. Forced himself to be calm, rational. For those words encompassed the feelings many in the prince’s suite shared. If this had been what drove their decision to permanently remove him from Noctis’s life, Ignis could accept that. He’d been targeted by enemies for so long, their words and intent were dulled by his unwavering conviction in both Noctis’s love and the king’s favor. 

But this…this was something beyond mere dislike. For this to manifest in Nyx Ulric’s appearance, leading to King Regis’s request that Ignis investigate the matter, proved the enemy was far more powerful than any in the prince’s suite. That Ignis’s presence was not only unexpected, but unwanted. He gasped softly. Even if the king had been compelled by this higher power to effectively send him to his death, the warning proved otherwise. Hope pierced the darkness threatening to crowd his heart and weaken his resolve. There was no more time to waste.

An hour later, Ignis stood beside Aranea at her front door, patiently waiting while Biggs harnessed one of their chocobos. He turned toward her, a hand resting on the hilt of one of the daggers she’d given him to replace the ones he’d lost. “I cannot begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I will not forget it.”

“I should hope not.” Aranea spoke gruffly, but there was affection in her words, and some worry. “You sure talking to the king is the best course of action? He was the one who sent you here.”

“But not of his own volition,” Ignis replied. “I must speak with His Majesty. It is the only way I will learn the truth. He will not reveal me to others looking to benefit from my death. Something else I owe you my thanks.” 

She chuckled in response. “I think the hunters were more shocked at having to hand over all that coin to me. You realize your ‘death’ has netted me more money than this shop has. Now,” she said, her voice drifting away. “I can finally move out of this place.”

The admission surprised Ignis. “I was unaware you harbored the want to relocate.”

Aranea did not reply right away. She seemed distracted by Biggs’ low murmurs as he readied the bird. “Never been one to stick around one place too long. Or maybe it’s because you dragged me into your little romance.” Humor edged her words, and Ignis couldn’t help but smile. Then Aranea sighed. “There’s a change in the air, Ignis. Call it vampire’s intuition. It’s telling me that when whatever’s on the horizon happens, I want to be as far from it as possible. Nothing personal.”

Ignis’s smile faded. In truth, he felt something stirring in the air, but while Aranea preferred to be out of reach, he planned to be at its center. Especially if Noctis’s life was involved. “I understand. Have a care for yourself, Aranea.”

“If by that you mean don’t befriend any other hunters, you have my word.” Boot heels crunched over gravel as she turned to him, her palms cupping his cheeks. She pressed her cool lips to his, a chaste kiss that nonetheless echoed of the depth of their friendship. He laid his hands on her slender shoulders, squeezed them in silent, but shared, sentiment.

Biggs’ announcement regarding Ignis’s ride drew them apart. Aranea sighed as her hands slid from Ignis’s face. “You be careful out there. You can’t stay dead forever.”

Rendered unable to speak by the truth of her words, Ignis bowed his head. 

After accepting a satchel of fresh supplies Wedge gathered- “No hard feelins’ on me getting arrested, mate,” he said, sounding almost cheerful at the experience- Ignis mounted up. The chocobo scratched the ground as Ignis gathered the reins in hand. Sensing Aranea, Biggs, and Wedge watching him, he lifted his hand in farewell, then urged the bird on. It sped off, the quick acceleration testament to Biggs’s understanding of Ignis’s need. Ignis’s smile of gratitude was brief, for when he directed the chocobo to the northern road, all his thoughts turned to Noctis. Anticipation set his heart racing at a pace matching the chocobo’s stride. _Soon,_ he told himself.

The wind stirred, tugging at Ignis’s clothing. But it was the feel of a hand ghosting along the back of his neck that spurned him on.

***

In the days since Ignis’s departure, King Regis found himself drawn to the crypt more. Some nights, he stood in silent contemplation before his wife’s tomb, reflecting on happier times when the truth of their son’s legacy could be concealed in the small moments of everyday life. Other nights, such as this one, he stood before his son, the weight of his position manifesting in sagging shoulders and the knowledge that no distraction, however pleasant, could conceal what he needed to do. What he needed to give up. Each little twitch of Noctis’s hands, each instance his brow furrowed, told Regis time was running out. He laid his hand on his son’s, fingers that seemed suddenly gnarled holding fast. Would that their bloodline held sway over stopping time rather than eclipsing the sun… 

“Your Majesty.” A voice echoed from the crypt entrance, soft with reverence. “Lord Ravus has been sighted on the road.”

His liege’s envoy, here already. Regis’s slow exhale triggered a brief coughing fit. He withdrew a small vial from his pocket, not unlike the one Noctis clutched, and drank it down. Though the blood was fresh, its taste was like ash in his mouth. Knew from those agonizing nights at his wife’s deathbed this was a portent to the end. 

He tucked the vial away, straightened his shoulders. “Please send a messenger to Lord Ravus that he is welcome in this place. Grant him the respect of his position, and see to it his normal quarters will be readied.”

“Shall I inform him you will be waiting?”

“Of course.” The king’s answer was for his man, but his gaze lingered on his son’s face. “I will meet him in the dining hall.” 

“Majesty.” The guard clicked his heels as he bowed.

Regis absently listened to the other man’s departure as he observed Noctis. Though he lay still still, the air around fairly hummed with energy. The sound of Ignis’s name on those lips carried intense yearning. A telling sign of the strength of the bond between the two. 

The king thought of the man whose actions had proven his undying devotion to the prince. The only man he trusted with both his son’s life, and his heart. Refused to think of the slim chance at his surviving an encounter with a Bloodhound. Of the heartache in store for them were he to survive. 

Leaving his son to his rest, Regis emerged from the crypt, movements slower, stiffer, than when he’d arrived. Exhaustion dragged at his awareness. The initial belief it was a result of his long vigil changed the moment he lifted his gaze skyward. 

Once comprised of a single shade of deepest black, aspects of it had changed. Lightened. Showed him hues he had never seen before and his awe momentarily distracted him from the chilling knowledge of its meaning. Regis wondered, with some morbid curiosity, if the sun shone in other parts of the world. What it’d be like to feel it on his skin. 

Shaking off the fascination, Regis continued down the path. A surge of appreciation swelled within him at finding his guard waiting. With his captain and oldest friend leading the patrols around the home, Regis welcomed the arm he offered. He no longer had the strength to conceal his weakness. He also found himself no longer caring to. His fate was already sealed. All he had left was the hope Noctis would take what moments he could with Ignis before fate intervened. Lord Ravus’s impending arrival was only the prelude.

Upon entering the retreat, Regis was treated to the spectacle of his earlier orders being carried out. Yet his gaze was drawn to the entrance to the kitchen servants’ quarters, where the humans he’d taken in gathered at the windows, faces upturned to the sky, their expressions rapturous. One of the chefs, a young girl with short, dark hair, glanced in Regis’s direction as he passed. Normally, she regarded him with the same nervousness all the humans did here. Now she stared directly at him, her eyes flashing with defiance. She slammed the door shut. 

The guard swore. “Insolence. Majesty, please allow me to—”

“Let it be.” Regis’s answer was soft, for he lacked the strength to fight the lethargy steadily creeping over him. “This is their moment. They are entitled to it, however misguided.”

Though it was clear the guard did not agree, he conceded his king’s words with a nod. “Shall I escort you to the dining hall?”

“Yes,” he said, though in truth the power of that brightening sky compelled him to seclude himself in his darkened chambers. When their pace took them past an open window, Regis gave an involuntary shudder. 

The guard signaled a sentry to close the curtains. Dust billowed into the air as the heavy drapes settled to the floor. “Damned sun,” he muttered, echoing the sentiment all vampires shared. “It’s glad I am to be in service to the family who will save us from its light.”

Regis smiled at the praise. Yet even as he thanked his man for his years of service, he could not keep himself from wishing it were another’s blood that blotted out the sun. 

_Wistful old fool._

The hearth in the dining hall glowed like the maw of some fantastical beast as Regis and his guard crossed the threshold. Wooden logs cracked under the pressure, sending tiny orange sparks to the stone floor. Flasks had been set on the table, along with a covered tray that reeked of fresh meat. As Lord Ravus was master of the Bloodhounds, it was a fitting meal. 

Regis drifted toward one of the chairs arranged in front of the fire. He eased into it, unsure if the groan he heard originated from him or the chair. Heat from the fire warmed his clothing, yet did not penetrate the skin beneath. It, like the taste of fresh blood, ceased to give him any sense of being alive. 

“Would you like something to drink?” the guard asked.

Regis waved the suggestion off. “Leave me for now.”

“Majesty.” The guard bowed and quietly departed.

Alone, Regis gazed into the crackling flames. Saw a vision of Noctis as a child, murmuring to himself as he played with miniature figurines a guard had made for him. Caught his wife’s smile as she watched their son amuse himself. The way the light illuminated her face that night drew out the sadness behind her smile. And Noctis, demonstrating that keen perception all children possessed, looked up from his play and said, “Mama? Why are you sad?”

Ah, their boy. Their beautiful, emotionally sensitive boy. 

Other moments of Noctis in this room manifested, a ghost play summoned by a dying man’s mind. Regis allowed himself to relive them all, despite the constrictive feeling in his chest, the tears gathering in his throat. Recollection soon transitioned into personal imaginings. Visions of a happy home life, Ignis at his side, free of all obligations put upon him by preordained fate. A life where Noctis could wander the lands to his heart’s content, absorbing all the knowledge and stories others had to offer. Amidst these fanciful visions emerged a true memory, one that allowed the tears to slide down the king’s cheeks.

_Intent on whiling away an hour or so in privacy before his scheduled meeting with his vassals, Regis was honestly surprised to find Noctis seated on the floor before the hearth, maps scattered all around him. At twelve years old, Noctis’s features already began their transition toward adolescence. Yet he studied the maps with an adult’s focus, brow furrowed, lips pursed as he touched town names._

_“What is this I am seeing?” Regis said, tender as always when it came to Noctis. “Your tutors tell me they need to fasten books to your hands. It pleases me to find you so eager to complete your assignments.”_

_“It’s not an assignment.” Noctis traced a road with his finger._

_“A personal interest then?” Regis smiled as he settled onto the floor beside him. “I can invite the best cartographers in the kingdom to help instruct you further.”_

_Noctis made a face. “What’s a carto- whatever that is.”_

_Regis chuckled fondly. “Someone who makes maps.”_

_“Oh.” Noctis’s disinterest could not be clearer. But then he flashed an eager smile. “Dad, can we go here?” He tapped the town name on the map in front of him._

_Regis’s smile drifted away. The town Noctis indicated lay well beyond the borders. Sighing, he collected the maps. Made a mental note to store them in a place Noctis could not access. “Perhaps when you are a little older.”_

_“That’s what you said before,” Noctis said, his lips pursing. “You just don’t want me to see anything.”_

_Feeling the brunt of Noctis’s childish resentment was not new to Regis. He accepted it with a father’s patience. “Nothing could be further from the truth. But there are considerable dangers beyond our borders. You are far too important to risk.”_

_Noctis reared up, fists planted on the map, creasing its surface. He caught his father’s gaze, allowing Regis a glimpse of the determined young man he’d become. It was a moment of fear and pride. “Why? Why am I so important?”_

_The king hesitated. Revealing the truth to his son was out of the question. And yet, in the years to come, when Noctis’s wanderlust dictated his actions, Regis often wondered what would have happened if he had been honest. Instead, he touched Noctis’s shoulder, answered with words that were no less truthful._

_“Because you will be king one day.”_

_Noctis’s lower lip trembled. Then he surged to his feet, angry tears pouring down his cheeks. “I don’t want to be king!” he said, and stormed out of the room. The map he’d studied drifted toward the fire, where flames caused the corners to blacken and curl._

A heavy sigh preceded the king’s return to the present. Regrets. It was all he’d carry with him to the beyond. And none were so large as his inability to meet the man his son would become when he emerged from his long sleep.

Something in the air caught his attention. An underlying scent existing among the smell of fresh meat, burning wood, the musty odor of an old home. Regis sat upright, hands tightening on the armrests. Tuned out the busy echo of his household to sharpen his focus. For accompanying this scent was the lightest of footsteps. A careful, cautious approach, one befitting the only individual capable of moving in such a way. 

Regis lifted himself from the chair. The long folds of his cloak swirled about his legs as he strode across the room. His destination: a large painting of one of his ancestors suspended on the far wall. Time had stolen many of its details, but Regis nonetheless felt his ancestor watching him as he laid a hand on the carved wooden frame. Felt for the notch in the stone wall behind it. Upon pressing it, the painting shuddered, then slid aside, exposing a darkened corridor. It, like the others scattered throughout the walls, had been installed at the behest of one of his ancestors who, according to family lore, enjoyed moving about the retreat without being seen. Noctis discovered it during his youth, and it had become a place of refuge, especially after his mother passed. As Regis had also taken the time to explore the corridors, he knew this one could be accessed from the rear of the building. And only a few knew of its existence.  
He stood at the mouth of the corridor, hands folded at his waist. Behind him, firelight threw large shadows on the wall. He waited.

The air seemed to still. Then a tall figure dressed in black emerged. Light from the room brought the new lines on his face into relief, picked out the old scars on his bottom lip and across his nose. The face of a weary traveler, of a man struggling under the burden of his heart. A face of someone who had come seeking not welcome, but answers.

The king bowed his head. “I had hoped for your safe return, Ignis. It is time you knew the truth.”

***

Lord Ravus was not a patient man. He sat inside his carriage, fingertips drumming on the tapestried armrest beneath the window. Outside, men in his entourage struggled to remove the ancient tree limb blocking the road. The initial amusement at the frequency of such obstacles- all knew his carriage, all knew who he represented- had lost its novelty. Foolish mortals, did they think littering the road with dead trees could truly halt his mission? He’d scoff if he wasn’t already irritated. 

He lifted his gaze to the sky, fresh irritation melding with the feelings he’d nursed since setting out a week ago. He’d be well on his way home, the prince in hand, if not for these distractions.

A man approached the carriage. “We’re almost done, my lord,” he said. “The rest of the way should be clear.”

“See that it is. I’ll suffer no more delays.” Ravus’s words were as sharp as the blade at his side.

The man bowed low, dropped out of sight.

Ravus leaned back in his seat, features tightening as he watched the sky. Reports had come pouring in regarding the flashes of sunlight some regions experienced. Vampires flocked to the west, desperate to be free of the source of their destruction. Humans had simultaneously moved in on lands previously controlled by vampires, led there by the damnable hunters. In years past, he’d had the luxury of dispatching his Bloodhounds to hasten the end to any uprisings. But his power waxed and waned in accordance to his liege. His Bloodhounds numbered in the fewer. And while he disliked weakening his forces by sending Nyx Ulric here, an order was an order. Ravus was about absolute deference and obedience to his superiors. For without them, he would not be.

Two men tossed the final piece of the tree onto the side of the road. The way clear at last, they hurried to their mounts. Ravus held himself in place as the carriage shifted to accommodate those without chocobos. There was the snap of reins, a shouted command, and the carriage lurched forward. 

Ravus watched the passing scenery, his thoughts darkening. The times preceding Ascensions always soured his mood. To him, nothing was more beautiful than the world bathed in moonlight. Once, he’d been subjected to a sunrise, all thanks to the Lucis vampire’s refusal to accept his fate. His liege made him suffer for his insolence, of course. Yet Ravus could not shake the feeling of dread this Ascension gave him. He knew the prince’s penchant for disobedience. And to take a human lover! Such treachery would never had survived in Ravus’s court. But King Regis was soft. Weak. No wonder his hold on his own lands was suffering. Ravus contented himself with knowing that very soon, he’d deliver the prince to his liege. And on the long journey back, Nyx Ulric could entertain him with stories of how he killed the blind hunter. Ravus smiled, pleased by the scenario.

The carriage dipped and creaked in accordance to the road. Ahead, the Lucis ancestral retreat appeared on the horizon. Seated on a cliff overlooking the sea, its exterior bore all the evidence of living at the mercy of its power. Time had also ravaged its integrity, allowing only the central area suitable for habitation. Ravus, hailing from a castle that was as large as it was well-maintained, felt this to be nothing more than a ruin. Yet there was power here. The power of kings. No, _gods_. For only gods could blot out the sun. 

One of the men hanging off the back of the carriage called to him. Ravus peered through the window. “What is it now?” he demanded.

The man gestured behind them. “A rider approaches, my lord.” 

Ravus leaned further out. Sure enough, a man rode his chocobo for all it was worth. The sight of a body draped over the back brought a smile to his face. He knocked on the carriage ceiling. The driver drew rein. Ravus alighted before the carriage had come to a full stop. Moving past his personal guard, who fell into step behind him, Ravus approached the rider.

He spread his arms, a laugh bubbling from his throat. “Brother, I welcome your return. I trust your hunt was…” Ravus’s words trailed off as the rider neared. His eyes narrowed. This man was not a natural rider, his control slipping as readily as the body he desperately tried to keep still. The cloak concealing the head fluttered, affording Ravus a glimpse of a face he thought he recognized. 

No. Impossible.

At seeing the men waiting, the rider pulled the reins back so far, he nearly forced the bird onto its side. A quick jerk of the chin sent one of Ravus’s guards to assist. The man slid off his mount with a ragged sigh of relief. Ravus noted he wore the garb of the guard stationed in the southern border town.

“Soldier,” he said to the man, who flung a wild-eyed look the Bloodhound master’s way. “Explain yourself quickly while you’ve still the means to do so.”

The man visibly gulped. “P-pardon, my lord,” he said, his accent dictating his region of birth. “I’ve been trackin’ your carriage for days. I’m afraid I have bad news about one of your own.”

Ravus’s eyes narrowed. Then, without another word, he approached the chocobo and lifted the cloak from the body. Shock and denial struck his heart equally. Nyx Ulric was the epitome of his Bloodhounds, ruthless, dangerous, highly skilled. A brother in both blood and name, had Ravus’s beloved sister not been cut down by hunters. This man, with his tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth, dried spittle and blood on his chin, his throat cut, the stench of decay, urine, and feces clinging to him, was not Nyx Ulric. Not anymore.

It took a moment for Ravus to find his voice. “What happened to him?”

“Don’t rightly know, sir. Found him while I was on patrol. Animals were finishin’ what his killer started.”

The image of Nyx Ulric left to rot among the lower beasts heated Ravus’s blood. He leaned forward, overcoming his revulsion at the collection of scents in search of what might have caused his death. Ravus’s lips drew back into a snarl. Vampire toxin. A highly potent one. Its scent, faded as it was, left him feeling slightly disoriented. Stepping back, he sent the soldier a sharp look.

“Only hunters make this type of poison. As your town is full of those thoughtless killers, I assume you have a lead.”

“Not a lead exactly. Just a feelin’.”

Ravus struggled to maintain his patience. “And what is your ‘feeling’?”

The soldier’s expression darkened. “Was that blind hunter-killer. We all saw him tanglin’ with the Bloodhound. He’d already killed someone at the Bloody Dagger- uh, a boardin’ house,” he said when Ravus scowled. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he did your man in, too.”

Knowledge that Nyx failed in his mission paled in comparison to the rage at learning his killer’s identity. “Have you captured this hunter-killer?”

The man shook his head. “Got himself killed.”

“By whom?”

“Vampire named Aranea. Which is odd considerin’ people said they was friends.”

“Indeed.” Ravus spoke curtly. “And did she show you his body?” 

Again, the man shook his head. “Just his daggers. All the proof they need, you know. She left a day later. Headed west, or so I heard. Found your man not long after that.”

A coincidence Ravus did not accept as anything other than a ruse. The blind hunter-killer lived. But not for much longer. 

Ravus signaled one of his men. “He will escort you back to your town. You have done my brother a great service by returning him to me.”

“Right. Um, my lord,” the man tacked on, as if recalling who he addressed. “Sorry about your man. We were rooting for him.”

Ravus accepted his words with a nod, then dismissed him. As the man assigned his escort led him back to his own mount, Ravus took it upon himself to lift Nyx into his arms. He carried him to the carriage, his heart too consumed by rage to mourn him as he deserved. The only thing he could do for him now was send him home. 

“Are you sure, my lord?” the driver asked when Ravus ordered one of his men to surrender his mount. “The prince may not be ready to ride and—”

“The king will no doubt grant me the use of his carriage. And even if he does not, the prince can be tied to a mount.” Anger prevented Ravus from referring to his liege’s last living heir with the proper respect. As far as he was concerned, the prince’s conduct had brought them all to this moment. Nyx Ulric’s death was as much his fault as his lover’s. “We still have a duty to uphold.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll see Nyx home. Shall we wait for your return to entomb him?”

Ravus considered it, then shook his head. “Let him be with my sister. It is what we both want. Go now. I will return as swiftly as I am able.”

The driver bowed his head. Then, with a flick of the reins, he turned the carriage round. Ravus did not linger to watch its retreat. He kicked his mount into a run, surging ahead of the four men he hadn’t tasked with giving Nyx an honor guard. For Ravus thought of nothing but his upcoming audience with the king, securing the prince, and consuming Nyx’s killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting intense for our intrepid heroes. Thank you all for taking the time to read and comment!


	8. Price of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis learns the truth of the Ascension. Noctis awakens at last.

Silence hung between them, as pronounced as the distant happenings outside the chamber, the crackling fire in the hearth. 

“Ignis. Please, sit.” Regis stepped back, offering one of the chairs by the fire despite Ignis’s inability to see the gesture. Instead, he extended the invite with his words. Ignis, no doubt sensing this, bowed and emerged from the corridor. He approached the hearth with unerring footsteps, but did not sit. He faced the fire, his arms folded, gaze seemingly fixed on the flames. Regis noted the bandage around Ignis’s hand, a second at his throat. The way he held his shoulder. That he walked away from a Bloodhound with so few injuries spoke of his incredible skill. Yet to look at Ignis now was to see a man plagued by a troubled spirit. 

Regis joined Ignis by the hearth. He chose not to sit, though his body wished otherwise. The sun’s power was such it seeped through stone walls to drain his very essence. The irony was not lost on him. 

Neither spoke for some time. As Ignis was not a man given to the forthright nature of his son, Regis studied the subtle twinges in his face, the way his posture stiffened, only to relax, then stiffen again. The king understood he listened for eavesdroppers. He closed the doors, one by one, then returned to Ignis’s side. Waited.

Seemingly confident at their relative privacy, Ignis exhaled. “Majesty,” he said, respectful as always. “When I left here, I was convinced Nyx Ulric sought Noctis’s death. Now I know it was mine he desired. What I do not fully understand is why.”

Regis’s words came slowly, laced with remorse. “You were not meant to, Ignis. Yours was a death arranged by Nyx Ulric’s liege.”

A muscle worked in his cheek. “A liege you also serve in your capacity as both king and a Lucis vampire.” Ignis faced him. Firelight danced across his face, giving him an appearance both familiar and foreign. His lips twitched ever so slightly as he spoke. “And Lucis vampires must Ascend if they are to continue their dominion over the sun. As Noctis must.”

Regis sensed Ignis already knew the truth of Noctis’s fate, or at least in part, yet could not bring himself to say it aloud. It was there, in the way he held himself, the tenor of his voice. 

“Yes.” Regis’s words were heavy with regret. 

Ignis made a small sound in his throat, turned away. Braced himself on the mantle. His throat flashed as he swallowed. “Majesty, I beg you. Tell me of the Ascension.”

Regis paused. With Noctis, the truth of the Ascension had been concealed by familial and kingly duty. That one day, he’d simply assume the throne while Regis quietly retired from public life. For this was how it was for Regis. He allowed the belief to persist, dreading the day when the truth came to light and all he could do was accept it. Informing Ignis carried the same heartache as if it were Noctis standing before him. Distress was in every line of his body. 

Unable to stand under the weight of their legacy, Regis sank into the chair with a shuddering sigh. Ignis remained hunched over the mantel, as if tensing for a blow sure to shatter his strength. 

When the king spoke, he did so softly, but without hesitation. In a small way, he felt relieved at the chance to unburden himself. 

“Nyx Ulric’s liege, and in turn my own, is none other than our patriarch, Ardyn Lucis Caelum,” he said, and Ignis drew in a sharp breath. “Every few hundred years, he rises to sire more children. The more of us there are, the stronger our hold over the sun. The stronger our race becomes. But it is only a borrowed existence. For the curse of the sun is bound to the patriarch remaining entombed in his resting place.” 

Ignis appeared thoughtful. “Some among the hunters theorized this to be the case, given the cyclical nature of the rise and fall of vampires. How is this accomplished?”

Regis’s gaze drifted to the fire. The truth, at last. “My liege must feed on the blood of his most recent descendant.”

Silence fell between them. Regis listened to the spit and hiss of the flames consuming the wood, felt as much as heard the quickening of Ignis’s pulse. 

“Do they know?” He spoke in a hushed whisper.

“It is a closely guarded family secret. They do not know until the last.” 

Given the way Ignis tensed, Regis understood he knew the king was purposely withholding information. After some consideration, the blind man spoke again. “What becomes of them?” 

Regis paused, momentarily distracted by the thundering echo of Ignis’s heartbeat. “I am told some become my liege’s vessel. Others live, but in a diminished capacity. Most, however, do not survive.” 

Ignis made a small sound. “And the last one to participate in this ritual?” 

“My father. But,” Regis said, regret heavy in his tone. “It should have been me.”

At this, Ignis glanced over his shoulder. “How could you know that? If none are aware of your patriarch’s true intent.”

Regis paused to collect himself. Even now, the truth the boy heard all those years ago haunted the man. “The king learned it from a letter his grandsire’s servant sent him. He hid my mother away. Gave out she died in childbirth, and I with her. My liege discovered the truth, of course.” Yet another memory, just as harrowing, haunted Regis: a little boy, cowering behind his dead mother, too frightened to cry as a damning decree nearly shattered the walls. 

**Your child will be mine, Regis Lucis Caelum. I will not tolerate any more disobedience.**

Though Regis had not spoken aloud, Ignis reacted as if he had heard. He shifted in place, as though the very ground beneath him threatened to collapse under his weight.

“Noctis.” He breathed the prince’s name, chest rising and falling at his swift intakes of breath. “He does not know any of this. That he is to be…” He trailed off, fingers curling over the mantel. 

A log split in two, its echo resonating throughout the room.

Regis did not answer. His silence was enough to convey the truth.

Ignis’s head dropped so it disappeared between his shoulders. His body quivered. “How?” he asked, accusatory. “How could you not tell him?”

Regis gazed into the fire. “My father perished because he could not bear to send me to my assigned fate. My liege killed my mother for her complicity. My father’s choice, however well-intentioned, has brought us here. Understanding this, you tell _me_ how a father could tell his only son he must die.” 

His words seemed to rob Ignis of breath, of capacity for speech. He stood as if frozen, head still bowed, hands fastened to the mantel. His lips drew back into a pained grimace. A sound escaped his throat, perhaps a protest, perhaps Noctis’s name.

Sighing, Regis rose to stand beside the other man. “Hear me, Ignis. When you entered Noctis’s life, I wanted nothing more than for him to spend an eternity with you. You are the only one worthy of him. And you are the only one who can ease him onto this path.”

The color drained from Ignis’s face. “Majesty,” he said, the tremble unmistakable in his voice. His chest heaved, as if he struggled for breath. “Please, do not ask this of me.”

“He will listen to you.” 

Ignis shook his head. The capable man the king had sent to face a Bloodhound was absent in the one slowly crumbling before him. “I cannot do this. Destiny or not, Noctis will not simply surrender. And I will not live without him again.” 

Regis sympathized with the anguish inside Ignis’s heart. But this human, who rose above the ingrained hate and fear to give himself to a vampire, possessed another aspect Regis knew and respected. One Ignis himself may not even be aware of.

The king laid a sturdy hand on Ignis’s shoulder. Brought him back from the place of despair Regis’s request sent him to. “You have already lived without him. Just as I have.” 

The other man appeared stricken. “Majesty…I…”

Regis tightened his hold. “I have suffered enough for my father’s disobedience. Please do not extend my suffering to Noctis. Allow him to meet his fate in peace.” 

Again, Ignis turned away. He gripped the mantel so tightly, Regis heard Ignis’s low moan of pain. Were he a vampire, he’d be struggling to contain the power of his presence. There was another struggle taking place within him. When Ignis faced him at last, weary resignation dragging at his features, Regis’s respect for the other man’s practicality grew. He did not thank him, though. The decision carried too great a cost to appreciate any gratitude. 

“What would you have me do?” Ignis asked, very softly.

Again, Regis wished for a different outcome for them. But wishes were mere indulgence, meant to inspire a false sense of peace when reality was at its hardest. “What you have always done, Ignis. Love and support my son. For he will need you more than ever.”

Ignis’s lips tightened at the reminder. “I’ve heard him call to me. Seen him. And here, I—” He broke off, hands tightening into fists. 

Regis did not ask him to clarify. “His awakening nears,” he said. “I will bring you to him, but be mindful: my liege has already dispatched his representative.”

Again, Ignis’s heartbeat quickened. “How long before he arrives?”

“Within a few days. However,” Regis said, just as Ignis prepared to depart, no doubt pressed on by a strong sense of urgency. “Noctis will be allotted whatever time he needs to regain his strength. Use it wisely.”

Another log split in half, sending orange sparks to the floor, which faded at Ignis’s feet.

Ignis took a moment to collect himself, then nodded.

“Take me to him.”

*** 

They followed the corridor outside, for Regis had no wish to announce Ignis’s presence to the rest of the household, not when things were already in an uproar over Lord Ravus’s impending arrival and the state of the sky. As they neared the exit, Regis’s steps faltered. The lethargy he’d fought during their conversation returned with a swift vengeance, intent on drawing him into a deep sleep matching those of his evolution. Ignis, demonstrating an awareness uniquely his, reached out to steady the king.

“I can go the rest of the way alone, Majesty.” He spoke quietly, conscious of the acute hearing of the guards on patrol. “The sun’s power appears to be sapping your strength quickly.”

Regis coughed into his hand. Doing so brought a concerned frown to Ignis’s features. “Be that as it may,” the king said, forcing himself to speak over the cough. “You cannot access the section of the crypt without my help.”

“There is another way inside?” Ignis asked, falling into step beside the king. Overhead, the sky was comprised of varying shades of blue, black, and, to the east, pale gray edged by gold.

“There is,” Regis said, heading down a path breaking away from the rear of the building. The smooth stone soon turned fractured, the hedges overgrown. Normally, these paths were as clear as any in the retreat. But with Noctis’s fate being what it was, Regis did not find its upkeep necessary. The seawall had fallen long ago, stripping the road and leaving mud and driftwood in its place. As it was unfamiliar territory to Ignis, Regis offered his arm. The other man hesitated, but be it out of respect or a sense of pride, the king did not know or question. When Ignis linked his arm with his, Regis continued walking.

The sea raged to their right. Waves crashed against the supports, throwing up droplets and clumps of sand in their path. Seaweed littered the broken bits of the path, appearing as ragged strips of green. Ahead, the rear of the crypt clung to the cliffside, as if in defiance to the power of the sea. Its side entrance, framed by torches Regis himself lit a few days ago, beckoned them onward.

Ignis tilted his head as he attempted to listen to their surroundings. Regis expected a question concerning their whereabouts, from the location of sturdier paths to a description of the crypt itself. But at seeing the contemplative look Ignis wore, Regis understood he listened to his surroundings not to identify, but to remember. 

“Noctis spoke of a pier nearby,” Ignis said softly. “Can you see it?”

Regis looked to the distance. Once proudly stretching from the beach to about twenty feet out into the sea, the pier seemed no more than a skeletal bridge clumsily held together by frayed rope. Loosened boards rolled atop the waves. 

“Yes,” Regis replied, seeing Noctis as a young child sitting at its edge, feet dangling in the water. The memory prevented him from describing its current condition to Ignis. “It was a favorite spot when he was young. He aspired to become a famous angler.” Regis smiled faintly, even as his heart twisted with pain at the memory of a small boy’s excitement over catching fish.

Ignis gazed into the distance. “He wanted to go deep sea fishing.”

Waves crashed against the pier as he spoke, taking more boards on its retreat. 

The two men walked on.

Crumbling stone smoothed once more as they approached the entrance. Regis gently guided Ignis up the steps. “Wait here,” he said, slipping his arm free on his way to the door. He sensed Ignis at his back, listening as the king withdrew a set of keys recently retrieved from one of the most trusted in his household. “Beyond this door is a suite of rooms behind the main chamber. My family has used them to recuperate from our long sleeps. You will find them stocked to accommodate your needs.”

“How have you managed this?” Ignis asked as Regis unlocked the door. As it had been accessed often, it did not release the telltale creak of a rusted lock. “You would need to invest in proper storage for food and water.”

Regis pocketed the key, then slid the ring from his finger. “Noctis arranged it.”

Astonishment crossed Ignis’s features. “When did he…?”

A faint smile appeared on the king’s face, unseen by Ignis. “He left instructions at our family home. He was quite specific.”

There was a pause before Ignis appeared almost embarrassed. The smile touching his lips echoed of affection and gratitude. “I had not expected his memory to be so flawless.”

Regis chuckled lightly, a foreign sound to his ears of late. “My son is as considerate of you as you are of him, though he sometimes lacks the ability to say so.” 

“Indeed.” Warmth, and sadness, edged Ignis’s partial smile. 

The king bit his finger, allowing the blood to splash onto the Lucis family crest, before inserting his hand into the opening above the lock. Energy bound to the ring connected to that sealing the door. Unlike the main seal, this one did not threaten to drain his lifeforce. It melded with it instead, filling him with the warmth of its power. 

When the energy ebbed, Regis withdrew his hand. The scraping of rock accompanied the opening of the door. The air hummed with power. As Regis replaced the ring, he glimpsed Ignis in his peripheral. The sharp lift of his chin, the slight parting of lips, led the king to believe he, too, sensed it, as well as its owner. He moved forward a single step, entranced. 

Regis touched his shoulder. Ignis came back to himself, albeit reluctantly. “Take this,” he said, presenting the key. Ignis palmed it with a slightly shaking hand. Now that they stood on the threshold, his heartbeat had doubled. It roared in Regis’s ears as if he held it there. “There is one other thing you must be cautious of, Ignis. Noctis will be ravenous upon his awakening. In this state, he may not recognize who you are. It is my recommendation you use the blood stores. You will find them in a chest in the center chamber. Allow him to sate his hunger first.” 

Ignis glanced at the key in his hand in silence. His fingers closed over it, graceful, reverent. “I understand,” he said softly. “Shall I deliver any messages for you?”

Though well-meant, the question impacted the king with the same force of a physical blow. Regis turned his gaze to a horizon that, until recently, seemed without end. Now a thin line of light separated it. The onset of dawn, a time of new beginnings for humanity. For one widower king with a heart full of regrets, it marked a time of farewell. 

“Tell him,” Regis said, seeing not the rolling waves but visions of his son, smiling, laughing, scowling. His wife, beckoning, arms opening to welcome him home. Spoke the words she had as he clutched her hand. “Wheresoever he may go, I shall always be with him.”

Ignis bowed his head. The gesture convinced Regis he understood there would be no meeting between father and son. “I will tell him,” he said, speaking with difficulty. “You have my word, Your Majesty.”

Regis clutched Ignis’s shoulder. “Then I leave him in your care.” 

The depth of meaning behind Regis’s words seemed to deprive Ignis of all capability for speech. He bowed at the waist, hands at his sides. Regis’s hand slipped from his shoulder as he stepped back. Watched in silence as Ignis disappeared into the darkened entryway. 

When the door sealed shut behind him, cutting off the sense of Noctis’s power, Regis felt as if his very being ceased to be. There existed only a pervading emptiness. Had it not been for his personal guard arriving to escort him to his chamber, the king of Lucis would gladly have perished in the last place he felt his family’s love.

*** 

Ignis remembered the musty scent of the chamber. The stale air thick in his throat, the chill of stone walls. Shivers raced up and down his spine, yet the cold was only partly to blame. Another presence existed here. Beloved. Familiar. _Missed._ It swept over him, dredging up memories often only visited in dreams. Left him as desperate for air as for his prince’s touch.

Ignis walked the corridor slowly, hand running along the wall to his right. Each step brought him closer, closer, to the one he’d given up everything for, given his all for. Each step also served to remind him of the gulf of years they’d spent apart. To know their time together amounted to just over six months brought their separation into sharp relief. Ignis moaned low in his throat. Bereft of outside distractions, he was at the mercy of his memories, his desire. Desire that now settled hot in his groin, demanding, aching with need. Only the weighted presence of the key in his other hand kept him focused. There was still one more duty he needed to perform before he could relive the euphoric bliss with his prince.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Ignis laid a hand over his throbbing erection, promised himself relief, before quickening his steps. 

Warmth lured Ignis onward until he sensed he left the corridor behind. The familiar roar of a fire led him further in, for the chill associated with a keep alongside the sea seeped into his bones. Ignis walked cautiously, hand outstretched until his fingers contacted the curved slope of a low chair. He shed the cloak and overcoat, draped them over the chairback before removing his blindfold. It settled to the floor as he undid the straps holding his daggers in place. 

As their grip on his thighs lessened, the weight of guarding his prince lifted just so. Years of toiling night after night, years where he ended countless lives to protect the one that mattered most, fell away with each loosening strap. Ignis released a sigh of relief as he let the weapons belt drop to the floor. The absence of a clattering echo compelled him to kneel. Was there a footrest present he was unaware of? Yet a smile touched his lips as his fingers slid over the pelts piled there. Noctis’s instructions were indeed specific. The entire room radiated the same familiarity as the lodge. That he chose to design this room after it rather than his own suite at the castle spoke of its place in Noctis’s heart. 

A rush of love came over him as Ignis withdrew his hand. He drifted away from the fire-warmed pelts before his memories had the chance to ensnare him.

Further exploration revealed a bedroom and bath. Here, the rooms felt similar to the castle, right down to the copper tub. Ignis slid his hand along the faucets, heart bursting anew at Noctis’s thoughtfulness. 

_“You’re still in there? Don’t humans wrinkle or something?” Noctis’s voice echoed from the doorway, teasing, affectionate._

_“Wrinkles are the least of my concerns,” Ignis replied, laying against the back of the tub, luxuriating in the warm water curling around his upper body. “There’s a soothing element to the water I particularly enjoy.”_

_Noctis approached him, his footsteps light. Ignis’s eye drifted closed at feeling a hand glide down the length of his chest and into the water. His gasp was lost when Noctis touched his lips to his._

_“Am I not soothing enough for you?” His words now carried a seductive lilt, one that sent shivers along Ignis’s spine._

_Ignis sighed against his prince’s mouth. “More than you can possibly know.”_

_Noctis laughed low in his throat. “Good,” he murmured, nipping at Ignis’s bottom lip. “Now get out of there. There’s more room on the bed.”_

Ignis released a shuddering sigh as the memory transported him to their rooms in the castle. Remembered the lull of Noctis’s voice as he pulled him along, an insistent hand at his wrist. Remembered the lips at his jaw, the fingers at his lower back. 

Remembered Noctis’s destiny to die at his patriarch’s hands.

Remembered Noctis lay in state, just one room over.

An agonized sound escaped his throat. The years of missing and needing and wanting him took precedence, shoving everything else of consequence aside. The next thing he knew, Ignis had crossed the main room in search of the crypt entrance. His hand shook as he fumbled for the key. Where was it, dammit? Ah, there. The lock emitted a groan he echoed when he turned it. Throwing the door open, Ignis stepped inside, only to draw in a sharp breath.

Noctis’s presence surrounded him, inspiring as much need as awe. The sheer strength of it convinced Ignis his prince was on the verge of wakening. He had no thought of the king’s warning as he hurried inside.

Though it had been years since he last entered this sanctum, Ignis approached where Noctis lay as if he’d done it dozens of times. Arms that had last laid Noctis to rest now sought to hold him again. The first touch of silken hair beneath his fingertips wrenched a ragged gasp from Ignis’s throat. For one, terrible moment, he feared it to be a dream. That he’d wake in his bed in the old lodge he’d made his home. But he did not wake. All this was real, as real as the hair beneath Ignis’s caressing fingers. 

He passed his hand over the top of Noctis’s head. Trailed his fingertips through the long strands of hair, rejoicing in the sensation of them sliding over each digit. Touched Noctis’s forehead, expecting the cool skin beneath yet not anticipating the jolt that went through him. It was as if he touched someone there, yet _not_ there. Not dead, but not wholly alive either. Despite this, Noctis’s presence persisted. Comforting. Inviting. 

Ignis ran his fingers down the length of Noctis’s nose, across cheekbones more pronounced than he remembered. He placed both hands on Noctis’s face now, determined to etch each new feature into his mind. The line of his jaw had lost its soft curve. But his lips…they had not changed. 

Before Ignis processed what he was doing, he climbed into the bed beside Noctis, folded his body against his prince. He moaned, a decade’s worth of longing evident in the sound. The way he ran his thumb along Noctis’s bottom lip. 

Ignis leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to his beloved’s temple. The scent uniquely his filled Ignis’s lungs, unchanged despite the years spent inside the crypt. He breathed it in with the desperation of a man deprived of air. For until this moment, Ignis did not believe he lived. He merely survived. And, pressed so close to Noctis, his scent and presence clouding his thoughts, Ignis felt himself grow hard again. The self-imposed restraint, already weakened over the past several days, frayed more as he curled his fingers around Noctis’s shoulder and thrust his hips forward. Made short, stuttering gasps each time his bunched pants rubbed against his stiffened cock. Remembered instances where strong fingers gripped his hips, the feel of lips and tongue running along his length. 

Then he heard it.

Noctis’s voice.

Ignis propped himself on his elbow, chest rising and falling with each quick intake of breath. He searched the darkness of his vision, wishing with all his might he could _see_ the face Noctis now wore. 

“Ignis.” Noctis’s voice was a ragged whisper.

Ignis’s heart beat so fast, it almost hurt to breathe, to speak. He caressed Noctis’s lips, feeling as well as hearing him whisper his name once more. 

“I’m here,” he said in a choked murmur. He touched his lips to Noctis’s cool cheek, the corner of his mouth. Stroked his bottom lip with a thumb. “I’m here, Noct.”

Noctis made a low sound deep in his throat. At Ignis’s gentle probing, his lips parted. Ignis shivered at feeling the flick of a tongue, the sharp point of a tooth. Ignis turned his thumb inside Noctis’s mouth, allowing for his tooth to press into the skin. The puncture was small, barely enough to draw blood. But it stirred Ignis’s desire to feel those teeth at his neck. As he tugged at the collar of his shirt, his fingers grazed the wound Nyx Ulric inflicted on him. The sharp burst of pain, accompanied by a surge of anger, shattered the moment. He couldn’t let Noctis drink from him. Not like this.

Beside him, Noctis moved restlessly, lips and tongue searching for more. Because Ignis could not deny Noctis anything, he allowed for his prince to suck at the wound before reluctantly withdrawing his hand. Noctis made a strangled sound. Groaned Ignis’s name again. The depth of need lacing each syllable tore at his heart. 

_You taste so good, Ignis._ Noctis’s sleepy murmur echoed in his memory as he sought the vial he hoped was still intact. _Let me taste you again._

Ignis sighed his relief at locating the vial, still clutched within Noctis’s left hand. Once he had it open, he tipped its contents into Noctis’s mouth. Heard the telltale moan of pleasure as his prince drank. Ignis leaned over to press a lingering kiss to Noctis’s brow. He went still, seemingly contented by the offering. Ignis buried his face in his prince’s hair, breathed him in again, before sliding out of the bed. King Regis’s words of warning drifted back to him, prompting Ignis to seek out the blood stores. 

Upon finding the chest, Ignis withdrew several large bottles. He left them within Noctis’s reach. Afterward he stood over him, unwilling to leave his side, even though it was to the next room. Sighing, he turned away. Told himself it wouldn’t be long before they were truly reunited. 

Ignis immediately made for the bath, where he indulged in both a lengthy soak and the long overdue self-pleasure. By the time his climax tore through him, leaving him panting and trembling, he felt no relief. Only a painful awareness to what had been denied him. The memory of his rutting against Noctis was so strong, his softening cock twitched in his hand. Ignis gently rinsed himself off, conscious of his sensitive head, before emerging from the tub. After tending to his wounds- he’d come across some potions in a chest- he changed into fresh clothes, no doubt taken from their rooms at the castle. 

With nothing to do but wait, Ignis spent the next hour familiarizing himself with the rest of the chamber. The delight at finding a small cookpot and stocked pantry could not be understated. Having lived among vampires for the last ten years and served by human cooks, he’d had little opportunity to make his own food. 

Once collecting all the ingredients he needed, he ventured into the main chamber. Soon the scent of simmering meat and vegetables filled the air. Ignis smiled faintly as he ladled the stew into a bowl. Noctis’s curiosity over human food resulted in a rather stark declaration.

_”How can you eat that? It tastes horrible.”_

_“Some might say the same of human blood,” Ignis replied as he stirred the contents of the pot. The hearty stew had been his mother’s recipe, and a personal favorite of his. “But to each their own.”_

_He felt Noctis watching him. Heard him give a small sigh. Ignis glanced in his direction and offered a wry smile. “You didn’t have to try it.”_

_“I know,” Noctis answered, sounding sullen. “It’s just. Well, I wanted to. Cause you looked like you enjoyed it.”_

_At this, Ignis ceased stirring. This had not been the first time Noctis confided in him like this. While he never wished for his prince to be anything other than what he was, knowing Noctis felt the need to share aspects of his life as a human touched Ignis. Deeply._

_“What if I described the taste to you, as I know it?” he suggested, taking a spoon from the table._

_Noctis’s answer echoed of the smile Ignis wished he could see. “Yeah. I’d like that.”_

Ignis glanced in the direction of the chamber where Noctis slept, sighed, and settled in to eat. Decided sleep might be in his best interest as well. Tomorrow, he’d check on Noctis again. For now, he contented himself with his meal, and the knowledge his prince was one room away. 

When he lay down at last, his face turned toward the crypt entrance, he listened for movement until he could no longer keep his eyes open. Sleep took him.

*** 

Ignis was dreaming. For only in dreams did he recall, with painful clarity, the exact feel of Noctis’s fingertips grazing his skin. The press of him at his back, the rigid cock slipping between his cheeks. Unconsciously, Ignis pushed against the feel, relishing the smooth, soft feel of Noctis’s head as it rubbed against him. Released a small gasp at feeling fingers coiling around him. Pumping his length with slow, steady movements.

Ignis shivered all over. Never had his dreams been so vivid. He tilted his head back, mouth falling open at the sensation of a hard cock pressing deeper between his cheeks. And, as the slightest penetration brought forth a sharp intake of breath, Ignis immediately realized this was no dream. 

Awareness was slow, with a hint of anticipation. First, the tingling all along his skin. Feelings often recalled but lacking the potency of the _now_. Ignis shivered at its power. Excitement and weakness permeated every part of him, beginning in the deepest recesses of his heart and coalescing into a powerful, physical ache. 

A subtle movement at his back. Fingers tight around his cock. Twisting, massaging, tugging. 

Ignis's heart pounded. A smile twitched at his lips, a smile of delight, desire. The smile of a man gone mad from waiting for this moment. He sucked in a trembling breath at feeling lips graze the back of his ear.

“Why did you stop?” A voice, _his_ voice, ragged from misuse, laden with desire.

Ignis’s answer was lost when fingers worked their way to either side of his neck. Curled beneath his chin. He angled his head back, the reaction instinctual. His pulse quickened at the brush of lips at his nape.

The hand at his neck tightened. He heard the shuddering sigh of one whose longing for this moment matched his own. A sound passed Ignis's lips, part sob, part moan, when sharp teeth pierced his skin. He gasped, too, for the iron grip at his neck threatened- promised- lack of air. A rush of fear accompanied by intense arousal shook him all over. His eyes fluttered closed, lips parting on his prince's name. All his pain, all his sorrow, all his worry, fell away as the world turned inward, dizzying, emotional, profound. For Ignis ceased to be himself. He had transcended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I am terrible to leave this on such a cliffhanger. Thanks for reading, everyone! <3


	9. Seize the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Noctis are reunited at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say Ignis and Noct love to sleep in the nude  
> ENJOY, EVERYONE <3

Noctis wrapped him up, with his arms, his legs, his very presence. Ignis’s fingers curled into the bedsheets, body quivering as his prince drank from him. The adored, familiar feel of those teeth brought unexpected tears to Ignis’s eyes, even as his cock twitched with need. He wanted to die with Noctis deep within, relentless, ripping him apart from the inside, leaving nothing behind. For he was nothing without him. 

He turned his head, mouthing what parts of Noctis he could- the top of his hair, his temple. Pleasure at the bite combined with Noctis’s determined pumping at his cock overwhelmed him. Primed him for a surrender ten years in the making. 

A tongue sliding along the side of his neck pulled a low moan from him, enhanced by the firm press of Noctis’s chest to his back, Noctis’s cock teasing his entrance. Ignis reached behind him, fingers clumsily grasping his prince’s hip. Dug his nails into the skin. “Noct,” he whispered, voice ragged with want. “Please…”

Noctis responded in a low growl echoing of need. His tongue swirled over the bite marks before he flicked Ignis’s ear, tightened his hand at his throat. A satisfied groan rumbled through his chest at hearing Ignis’s strangled gasp. 

Insistent lips now trailed along the line of Ignis’s jaw. He turned his head, mouth grazing Noctis’s. He nipped at his bottom lip. Slid his tongue into Ignis’s mouth, allowing him to taste his own blood. Shivered at the sensation of Noctis running his thumb over the head of his cock. Smeared precome along the slit with almost gentle movements. 

They drifted apart, Ignis breathing heavily, Noctis’s lips to his cheek, his hand relaxing at his throat. _“Ignis.”_ He spoke his name as if it were a prayer. Hearing it nearly forced a broken sob from Ignis’s throat. It had been so long, so damn _long_. Lips still warm from their kiss, his blood, pressed soft to his skin. “Ignis,” he said again, as if he needed to convince himself this was real. He trembled against his back, the hand at his cock squeezing ever so slightly. 

Ignis sought his mouth once more, driven by need of him, need to reassure his prince this was indeed real. He thrust against Noctis, sighing into his prince’s mouth as the head of his cock slid deeper into him. He had no thought for the pain of a dry entry. For it enhanced this reality. A reality Ignis had spent so long reliving in dreams, he welcomed the discomfort. All of it. 

He groped for the back of Noctis’s neck, fingertips catching in the tangled strands of his hair. Lifted a trembling leg, inviting Noctis to enter him fully, satisfy the ache slowly taking him over. At feeling him give a tentative thrust, a jolt went through Ignis, curling his toes and wrenching a wanton moan from his throat. 

Noctis dropped his head to Ignis’s shoulder. Moved his hips slowly, teasingly. Each thrust and withdrawal left Ignis panting for more. Electrified his senses. The welcome press of his body to his, his scent, his touch, engulfed Ignis, bringing him to the edge far sooner than he anticipated. A shaky gasp passed his parted lips. He wanted to remain like this forever, at the edge of pleasure, rejoice at their closeness. But the time apart was too much. The lack of touch too much. Ignis tensed, back arching, his cock swelling in Noctis’s hands. Spoke his prince’s name in a shaking, breathy whisper. 

Noctis emitted a sound that was part sigh, part growl, before he withdrew. Confusion brought Ignis back to himself with what could only be described as a groan of dismay. Noctis reassured him with gentle kisses to his neck as he released Ignis’s cock. The hand he laid against Ignis’s thigh was sticky with precome. 

“Roll over,” he murmured, his breath tickling Ignis’s ear. “I want to look at you. No,” he said, squeezing Ignis’s leg when he started to move onto his back. “The other way.” 

Desire to please his prince superseded all. Ignis stretched out onto his belly, arms sliding beneath the pillow, fingers curling around the sheets at feeling Noctis arrange himself behind him. The heavy weight of his cock resting atop his cheeks. Arousal had him lift his hips, silently conveying his want. Noctis cooed appreciatively before lowering Ignis’s backside with gentle hands. Aching with need, Ignis turned his head on the pillow, listening for commands from his beloved prince. 

Noctis made a pleased sound as he ran his hands up and down the length of Ignis’s back. Each pass of his palm along Ignis’s skin brought forth shivers. Fingers traced the curve of his spine, slow, as if Noctis needed to familiarize himself with Ignis’s every contour. He flattened his palms along his upper back, gently massaging. But when he passed over the site of the knife wound he received from Nyx Ulric, he paused. Fingers lightly touched the space outside the wound. The raised skin already threatened to leave another scar. 

Ignis sensed Noctis watching him, wished he could see his face. Was he contemplating the scar’s origin? Pulse quickening, he braced himself for the question. The way the answer would bring the abrupt conclusion to this much-needed reunion. 

The bed shifted as Noctis leaned over. The smooth, wet feel of his tongue passing over the wound made Ignis moan softly. His eye drifted closed, an instinct he hadn’t quite shaken since he’d been blinded. As he existed in perpetual darkness, all sensation was thus heightened. But he had little thought for this as he gave himself to the moment. To memorizing the pathways Noctis’s tongue took along his back, the way he lovingly traced its shape. 

One of Noctis’s hands started a slow descent down his body, fingers lightly caressing before slipping round to grip Ignis’s left cheek. The other curled around his other shoulder, holding him in place. Ignis exhaled slowly, hands tightening around the pillow at feeling Noctis nestle his cock between his cheeks. Heard him wet his fingers and pull at himself with one hand, wrist bumping against the rise of Ignis’s ass to resonate through him. 

Then, with a low groan, Noctis laid atop Ignis, body bent as he moved, allowing the swell of Ignis’s cheeks to release, then close around him with each snap of his hips. He buried his face against Ignis’s back, hand tightening around his shoulder. The friction of sheets along Ignis’s own erection had him groaning though clenched teeth. He reciprocated Noctis’s movements with a determined fervor of his own. The combined stimulation brought him headlong into euphoria. Panting, body trembling as he approached his release, Ignis displayed his neck, eagerly anticipating the bite that promised pain, but delivered pleasure.

Noctis moved faster now, rhythm lost at his own pending orgasm. He dug his nails into the flesh of Ignis’s shoulder. This close to his release, the sensation seemed to belong to someone else. Nothing else existed for him other than the press of Noctis’s body, the frantic thrusting as his prince drove himself between his cheeks. 

“N-Noct,” he groaned, barely recognizing his own voice. Pleasure mounting, Ignis arched beneath him, mouth dropping open as his orgasm tore itself from his body as readily as his cry of ecstasy. It was so powerful, it left him gasping for breath. 

Noctis’s grunts, low, almost animal-like, soon resolved into the familiar and much missed moan of Ignis’s name as he came in rapid, hot streams. He curled over him, riding out the waves of orgasm. Ignis, having been released from his euphoria, felt for Noctis’s face. Questing fingers grazed his bottom lip, which trembled at Ignis’s touch. A similarly trembling hand closed around Ignis’s, keeping it in place on a cheek rough with stubble. 

Something about the way Noctis shivered troubled Ignis. Turning so he lay on his side, he lifted his face to his beloved’s. “Noct? Why did you not…?”

A brief silence. Then Noctis nuzzled against Ignis’s palm. “I’m so _hungry_ , Ignis,” he groaned in despair. “I’ve wanted to taste you again for so long. I dreamed about it. Then you came to me. Let me feed from you. Now I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s why I didn’t take you. I won’t be able to stop. I—” He released a low moan. “Iggy, help me.”

Ignis immediately understood. Sitting up, he pressed a gentle kiss to those lips, touched his forehead to Noctis’s. “Wait here. I’ll bring you what you need.”

The dried come clinging to his back, the chilled air of the crypt, left little impact on Ignis as he padded barefoot across the stone floor. He stepped carefully, expecting empty bottles to be strewn about. However, he quickly determined Noctis had not seen them. The few bottles he had left by the bed remained untouched. His excitement must have been too great, a feeling Ignis understood well. Nyx Ulric’s taunting words came back to him, leaving him crimson with anger and shame.

Ignis gathered as many as he could carry, then returned to the warmth of the next chamber. 

Noctis’s presence welcomed his return, giving him momentary pause that he was here, in need of him. Sensed his eyes on him as he approached the bed. He handed one of the bottles off, unable to keep from flinching when Noctis practically snatched it from him. There came the sharp pop of the cork, the soft bounce as it hit the floor, before Noctis greedily sucked the contents down.

Ignis sat on the bed across from him, listening for the telltale signs of a finished bottle before handing off another. Noctis drank noisily, heedless of anything but quenching his bloodthirst. Each contented sigh following a drained bottle left Ignis with feelings of relief, tenderness, affection. His blood or not, he lived to sustain Noctis in any way possible. 

The clatter of an empty bottle joining the others on the floor returned Ignis to the present. As he reached for one, Noctis took his hand. Ignis barely turned his face to his prince when he claimed his mouth in a rough kiss. Tremors raced up and down Ignis’s body at the feel of Noctis’s tongue pushing past his teeth. He circled Noctis’s shoulders with his arms, drawing him closer. Noctis gripped the back his neck, forced his head back as the kiss intensified. Sharp teeth prodded Ignis’s lips and tongue. Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth, but he didn’t care. Not when Noctis lay so passionate a claim on him. Not when he longed to give himself to his prince again.

Ignis’s need to breathe forced him from Noctis’s bruising kiss. But Noctis didn’t seem inclined to release him just yet. They kissed again, with renewed fervor, fingers grasping, arms locking in place around the other. Ignis pulled Noctis atop him, moaning into his mouth when their stiffened cocks touched. The orgasm from their previous encounter may as well have been nonexistent given how great his need was. And with Noctis’s thirst slaked, perhaps then he’d drink from him again…

Noctis turned Ignis’s lips loose to concentrate on mouthing along his jaw, his chin, the column of his throat. Ignis leaned his head back on the pillows, gripping either side of Noctis’s head, fingers curling within the strands of his hair. Noctis kissed all along his collarbone, the spots of skin his lips touched burning long after contact. Ignis’s breath caught in his throat at feeling Noctis’s hands on his chest, thumbs gliding across his nipples and sending new sensations throughout his body. 

Then a hot mouth closed over one, tongue and teeth teasing it. Ignis squirmed beneath Noctis, unable to prevent the low whine from passing between his teeth. He wanted those lips on every inch of his body. Noctis, seemingly aware of his desire, lavished his attention to Ignis’s other nipple. When he bit into it, Ignis let loose a rough cry of pain and desire. 

“…Noct…” His name was a breathy sigh. 

“Dammit, Ignis.” Noctis spoke in a ragged whisper. “You’re more beautiful than I remember. I missed you so much…”

He seized hold of Noctis’s hair. “Don’t stop,” he begged.

Noctis chuckled softly. “I don’t intend to,” he said, sealing his promise with a quick nip at the swell of Ignis’s left pec before moving to his belly. 

Ignis’s muscles contracted as Noctis bit and licked at him, his breathing quickening the nearer he came to his erection. The hand circling his shaft was met with a broken sigh of relief. It was nothing compared to the press of lips to the head. And when Noctis parted his lips to sink down onto him, allowing the heat of his mouth to stimulate every nerve, every memory he possessed of similar encounters shattered at the potent reality of it all. The shock at his pleasure was so great, he nearly lifted himself off the bed, his mouth dropping open in a soundless gasp. 

Noctis settled his hands onto Ignis’s hips as he worked him with his lips and tongue. Ignis was utterly beside himself at the sensations, writhing with the want to thrust into Noctis’s mouth. When he bucked a little too hard, resulting in Noctis’s teeth grazing the sensitive shaft- he was always careful not to bite- Ignis hissed in pain.

Noctis released him with a throaty chuckle. “I don’t remember you being so fidgety,” he teased.

Ignis’s head flopped onto the pillow. Exhaled as the pain of those sharp teeth ebbed. “It has been a long time,” he replied, his breath catching when Noctis idly ran his tongue along the underside of his length, a particularly sensitive area for him. “It’s been…difficult.” Thinking was, too, if he had to be honest.

“I’ll say. Didn’t take long to get you hard before.” 

This fine, cheeky response brought a wry smile to Ignis’s lips. He licked them, knowing Noctis’s fondness for the gesture. “Have you forgotten how quickly _I_ can bring you to—ah, Noct…” His words trailed off when Noctis took him into his mouth again. Building pleasure had him squirming. 

Noctis smiled around Ignis’s cock, then turned him loose. “You were saying?”

Ignis growled out a response even he couldn’t comprehend. Noctis’s pleasant laughter soon turned into a surprised exclamation, for Ignis slid back, depriving himself of Noctis’s tantalizing lips and tongue. At feeling Noctis crawl up the bed to his side, Ignis laid a hand on his chest. Smiled as he encouraged Noctis to lay back. 

“You’ve seen me,” he said to Noctis’s protest. Paused before adding, in sober tones: “Let me see you.”

He heard Noctis murmur a low sound of acknowledgement. Ignis kept his hand on his shoulder, following the curve as it dipped into his upper arm when Noctis stretched onto his back. New excitement sent tingles along every nerve as Ignis sat beside him. Slowly, he began his explorations, head bowed as he composed an image of Noctis in his mind with each sweep of his hand. 

First, he trailed his fingers along Noctis’s face, imprinting its shape into his mind. Feeling the skin pliant beneath his hands, the smile curving the corners of those lips, made his previous imagining seem thin as paper, a rubbing that captured the surface but none of the substance. Ignis’s lips parted at this new, older face. Still his same prince, yet so different. There existed a powerful energy about him, a pulsing aura comprised of strength and sexuality nonetheless softened by tenderness. But the real difference seemed deeper. For within this new face lay purpose. Ignis sensed that what had been mere imaginings for the young prince now had the power to become reality in the mature vampire beside him.

In short, Noctis was simply _magnificent._

Noctis’s hands circled Ignis’s wrists, gently. “I hope your silence means you like what you see.”

Ignis shook himself from his musings. He caressed those sharpened cheeks, reveled in the rough bristles under his fingers. “I am overwhelmed by it,” he admitted, for only with Noctis could he truly allow himself to be open. “You’ve changed so much.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, leaning into Ignis’s touch. “Not in the way I feel about you, though. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Needing you.”

“It was the same for me. Every day, every night,” Ignis replied, trailing his fingers along Noctis’s mouth. Felt his heart swell with affection when Noctis kissed the tips of his fingers. He drew in a shaking breath. “I’ve wanted nothing more.”

“No one else?” Noctis asked.

It was not a question born from a sense of unworthiness. It was more an affirmation of what was already true.

Ignis leaned over to touch his lips to Noctis’s. “Never,” he said against his mouth.

Noctis threaded his fingers through Ignis’s hair as he pulled him closer. They shared several kisses before Noctis drew back. He kissed the scar over Ignis’s sealed left eye, the gesture so tender, so loving, Ignis almost wept from it. 

“Let me give you your sight back, Iggy.” 

At this, Ignis averted his face. “Noct,” he sighed. “I’ve made my feelings clear on this.”

“I know,” Noctis answered, but without the impatience of his youth. “Trust me.”

The plea in Noctis’s voice silenced Ignis’s reservations, and he bowed his head.

Noctis gently cradled Ignis’s face between his hands. Recalling all those nights Ignis longed to feel those hands on him distracted from the tiny flutter of anxiety manifesting in the back of his mind. He absorbed it all: the delicate way Noctis endeavored not to place too much pressure on the scars, though the wounds had long since ceased to pain him. The scent of his skin, which lingered well after he’d left a room. When Ignis set out to memorize the castle’s layout during his early convalescence, all he need do was step into a room and know Noctis had passed through. Remembered, too, the enjoyment he had at their games of ‘hide and seek’. Though he still had his rough days, Ignis couldn’t recall the last time he’d _laughed_ quite so much. 

_“Just think about it, Iggy. When I’m king, you’ll be able to impress all the vassals when they pay homage to me,” Noctis had said, a note of pride to his voice._

_“Somehow I doubt they will be much impressed with one blind human,” Ignis replied, conscious as always of the court’s opinion on him. “And I do not believe I will be much welcome.”_

_Noctis scoffed. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’ll be the most important person there.”_

_“Flattery, Noct?” Ignis spoke fondly._

_“Not if it’s true,” he countered with a laugh. “Plus you won’t try to talk me into doing something I don’t want to do. You…always think about me and my wants, Iggy. It means everything to me.”_

As the memory drifted away, Ignis felt part of his heart turn hollow. How young and ignorant they both had been. Fate had other plans.

“What’s that look for?” Noctis’s voice pulled Ignis back from his musings.

He cleared his throat. “Ah. Memories, mostly,” he said, covering Noctis’s hands with his own. “Forgive me. They’re all I’ve had to keep me company these ten years.” 

“Nothing to forgive.” Noctis spoke softly. “Are you ready?”

He spoke an air of optimism Ignis wished didn’t twist his heart so much. He took a deep breath. “Ready.”

Noctis went still, so still it seemed he disappeared altogether. Ignis tightened his hold over the hands at his face, instinctively refusing to relinquish him just yet. The world outside this room did not exist, and had no right to intrude on their time together. Were it an enemy he could kill, Ignis would do so without a second thought. Fate would not take him. Not yet. Not—

Blue light, faint but familiar, shimmered in the darkness of his vision. As before, Ignis was entranced by its shifting hues and fluctuations. The light expanded, growing outward and upward, calling forth blurred shapes of vague familiarity. A corner fixture caught his attention, manifesting into something with a square hollow and topped by a long rectangle. The center suddenly seemed ablaze, startling Ignis so he gasped. Shapes seemed more defined, the blue light sharper. Dark patches seemed clearer. Less clouded.

And then he understood. 

He saw not with his own eyes, but _Noctis’s_. 

Trembling all over, astonished anew at Noctis’s abilities, Ignis slowly turned his gaze to where he last recalled hearing Noctis’s voice.

And found himself gazing into starlit eyes. Recognized the cant of his smile. The face he’d loved despite the passage of time stealing little details, reformed through touch and solidified before him. 

Tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t summon the strength to speak. 

A pale blue hand guided his to a pale chest. Fingers interlocked with his, and Noctis, his beloved prince, his everything, smiled. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, flashed with emotion. Happiness, delight, love. 

“I can’t project for very long,” he said, apologetic. He let a hand slide down the length of Ignis’s arm. His skin tingled at the contact. Then his lips curled into a suggestive smile. “So, about wanting to see me…”

Ignis didn’t answer. He could no longer form words. All he felt was a swift rush of love, of desire, as he leaned over to capture those lips with his own. 

This reunion was just beginning.


	10. Those Who Defy Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Ignis resume their long overdue reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clothes? Where we're going, we don't need clothes.

A wanton sound emerged from Noctis’s throat as he kissed him back, hard. They nipped and sucked at each other’s bottom lips with frenzied desperation. Sensations generated from their passionate kisses spread throughout Ignis’s body, heating his skin and making him tremble. He sought the side of Noctis’s face, to brand the sensation of rough bristles onto his fingertips. Served as another reminder that Noctis was _here_ , not separated from him by stone walls and endless nights of loneliness. 

The familiar ache settled into his groin, forcing a moan as he released Noctis’s mouth. He traced the edge of Noctis’s face with a finger, following its path with his eyes for the first time in a decade. Saw, too, the way he tilted his head into Ignis’s left hand, lips grazing the base of his thumb. That his silhouette shimmered pale blue enhanced his sensuality. It left Ignis breathless. Shaken by the depth of his need. 

Keeping his gaze locked with Noctis’s, Ignis settled atop him, catching his breath as their cocks touched. Noctis’s eyes kindled, then he sighed when Ignis took both in hand. He stroked them slowly, savoring the feel of Noctis’s smooth skin against his, the building heat in his palm. Precome dampened his hand, turned their clocks slick. Ignis’s other hand trailed down the center of Noctis’s chest, fingertips skimming lightly along his skin, contrasting the intensity of his hold on their cocks. Noctis’s eyes, hooded and hazy with desire, followed Ignis’s every move, as if he were determined to recall each detail. When Ignis ran the heel of his hand across his prince’s sensitive head, his body gave an involuntary twitch.

Noctis managed a shaky laugh heavy with desire. “Are you trying to make this quick?”

So caught up by the sight of Noctis steadily coming undone at his hand, Ignis blinked back to himself. “I want to see _everything_ , Noct,” he murmured, slowing his movements. His gaze roamed over Noctis’s chest, the smooth, tight muscles of his belly, the patch of hair above his groin. He touched an old scar under his ribcage. Ignis’s throat tightened at recalling how his prince received them. Even now, the memory of hearing his pained scream twisted his heart.

He lifted his gaze to Noctis’s. Saw the memory in his eyes. Ignis pressed his other hand, warm and sticky with precome, to a similar scar on Noctis’s side. “I had forgotten they had not healed.”

Noctis slid his hands along Ignis’s thighs, fingertips gently massaging. “It’s like you said, Iggy,” he whispered. “No sacrifice is too great for us. Only right now,” he said, his hands skimming upward to grip Ignis’s ass and encouraging him to lean forward. The light of desire in his eyes intensified as Ignis gave a little gasp at feeling a wayward finger dip between his cheeks. “I’m tired of sacrificing. Tired of _waiting_.”

The insistent pressure against his entrance lured Ignis from his somber thoughts. His breathing quickening, he took Noctis’s hand and brought it to his lips. Pressed soft kisses to each fingertip, delighting in the way Noctis watched him. Especially when he took the first two fingers into his mouth. He licked his bottom lip as Ignis idly ran his tongue along each digit, never once breaking eye contact. Felt as much as heard his low moan. 

Ignis released Noctis’s fingers, now slick with saliva. Locking eyes with his prince, he circled Noctis’s wrist with his hand. Gently guided him to his ass.

Noctis wasted no time. 

Sitting up, he crushed Ignis to him, mouthing along his collarbone and shoulder, one hand fastening to his hip, the other sliding down the curve of Ignis’s ass. Ignis wrapped his arms around him, head bowed, a tremulous sigh passing his lips at feeling Noctis’s fingers inside him. His body quivered, senses overwhelmed by the pleasure those fingers created. He panted, he gasped Noctis’s name, he tried to lower himself at each upward thrust. But Noctis held him still, both with the hand at his hip, the teeth grazing the flesh between his shoulder and neck. Ignis leaned away as much as possible, wanting to absorb the sight before him: the long strands of hair creating dark blue shadows along the planes of Noctis’s face, the way his brow knitted above his nose, the parted lips as he flashed those beautiful teeth. Then he bit down on him, sending a spasm of pain and pleasure through Ignis so powerful, he felt his cock jerk against Noctis’s where it lay pressed to his belly. Though the desire to close his eyes was strong, Ignis refused to do so. To see his beloved like this was a rare and treasured sight, from the blood edging past the corner of his lips to the movement of his throat as he swallowed. The tender way he ran his tongue over the puncture wounds. 

Of all the things in this life Ignis missed, seeing Noctis drink from him was chief among them.

Ignis’s right hand closed around their cocks, fingers slick as he pumped and twisted. He moaned Noctis’s name, a plaintive, keening sound nonetheless demanding satisfaction. 

The hand at Ignis’s hip now fastened to his left ass cheek. Free now, he sank down onto fingers that suddenly thrust harder, stealing Ignis’s breath and sanity until he could take no more.

“Noct…!” Each upward thrust stimulated the part of him promising breathless ecstasy. His pumping turned so erratic, he had to stop. His cock swelled against his belly. “Noct, I’m not…” He winced as he fought the rising tide of orgasm.

“Ignis….” Noctis’s hot breath seared Ignis’s skin. Then, with a quick movement, he withdrew his fingers, took him by the hips, and lifted him onto his cock. Ignis barely had time to adjust before the head pushed inside him. He sucked in a sharp breath, not from pain but overwhelming sensation. The long, lonely nights Ignis spent with his memories did not prepare him for the sheer _thrill_ of having Noctis inside him again. It was as if he reclaimed a part of himself he’d lost. 

Noctis dug his fingers into the meat of Ignis’s ass. Starlit eyes hazy with desire met his. “Iggy,” he said, clearly struggling against the same tide of pleasure Ignis did. “You feel so damn _good_ …I…” His voice trailed off, the ecstasy proving too much.

Ignis laid gentle hands on Noctis’s shoulders. Eased him back onto the bed. He did so, a long moan escaping his lips as Ignis started with a slow roll of the hips, for he wanted to savor this moment. But the intensity of his arousal did not allow for such luxuries. The pulsing warmth buried deep within answered an ache he’d endured for ten years. 

Ignis’s pace quickened. They moved in tandem, eyes locked on one another, Noctis’s hands squeezing Ignis’s ass almost to the point of pain. His swollen cock slapped against his belly at the force behind his movements, head leaking precome all over them both. At some point, Noctis’s hand closed around his length, providing a small, hot, tight spot for Ignis to try to thrust into. The attempt lasted for only a few, scant moments, for orgasm was fast approaching. 

Shoulders hunching, hands braced on either side of the bed, Ignis drove himself onto Noctis’s cock. His prince met each thrust, growling Ignis’s name in a voice fraught with desire. The bed hinges squeaked in protest, the headboard slammed against the wall. Sweat poured down Ignis’s face. All sensation turned inward. His cries alternated between lusty moans and ragged gasps before his orgasm propelled him into levels of ecstasy of such intensity, he nearly wept at how much he missed it. He arched his back, hands twisting among the sheets as hot streams coated his cock and parts of his belly. Wave after wave shook him, dimming his awareness until he sensed Noctis push him onto his back. 

Ignis, barely recovered from his orgasm, gazed up at Noctis, breath catching in his throat. His prince’s eyes shone a startling shade of magenta. The color held Ignis in thrall. He’d never seen Noctis’s eyes _glow_ like that. But then Noctis hooked one of Ignis’s legs over his shoulder and thrust into him so hard, Ignis’s head fell back onto the bed. The sound of Noctis’s hips clashing with his ass seemed to drown out the bed’s creaking. 

Ignis gasped and moaned with each successive thrust. Groped for something of Noctis to hold onto, teeth clenching against the power behind his movements. Tears mixed with the sweat coating his face. He called Noctis’s name, a wretched cry born of overstimulation countered by the demand he keep going. For how many nights had they left now Ignis knew the truth? 

Emitting a sound that was part moan and cry of denial, Ignis pulled Noctis to his chest. Their mouths met in messy, uncoordinated kisses. With one final thrust, Noctis’s body tensed, he groaned Ignis’s name against his lips before coming inside him with such force he shuddered from it. Ignis rode each wave with him, panting and clawing at his body to hold him closer, closer. Then Noctis turned his mouth loose to sink his teeth into Ignis’s neck with a ferocity that chilled as much as it excited.

Ignis wrapped him up in his arms, head turned on the pillow, a smile teasing his lips at a sensation he’d never, ever tire of. He felt as if he were sinking into warm water, overcome by the heady scent of Noctis’s skin, the heat of his body, the fullness of his cock within, the sense of his soul connecting to Noctis’s. _This_ was what he’d been missing all those years. 

The feel of soft, full lips on his brought him to the present. Ignis glimpsed the soft contentment in Noctis’s eyes, his smile, before his vision dimmed. As the blue hues outlining Noctis’s face faded, Ignis gathered him close, unable to suppress a small sigh of regret. 

Noctis pressed reassuring kisses to Ignis’s chin. “I’ll get better at it,” he murmured, voice ragged from their exertions. His softening cock was still nestled inside him. “Give me time.”

Ignis’s heart skipped a beat at his prince’s phrasing. He immediately dismissed the dark thoughts, turning his focus to the several lazy, long kisses they shared. 

They drifted apart. Ignis sensed Noctis watching him. Laid a hand on the side of his face. “I have waited ten years to see you again,” he whispered. “I can wait a little longer.”

 _“Iggy.”_ His name was a choked groan echoing of affection. After indulging in another series of long kisses, Noctis settled his head on his chest. Ignis wrapped his arms and legs around him, molding their bodies together. When Noctis laid a hand over Ignis’s heart, he closed his eyes on tears. 

It was the happiest he’d been in years.

***

The sense he was alone roused Ignis some time later. He grimaced slightly at the dull aches and pains resulting from their lovemaking. The places Noctis drank from him were tender to the touch. All discomforts Ignis welcomed as he passed his hand over the space beside him. The sheets felt cool, but smooth. No trace a body had ever lain there. 

Ignis eased into an upright position. “Noct?” he rasped. He listened for footsteps beneath the echo of the crackling fire, the muted roar of the ocean outside. The decrease in air pressure heralded the approach of a storm. All reminders a world existed beyond these rooms. All reminders Ignis resolutely pushed to the back of his mind the instant he heard running water. Pausing to locate his shirt- he had no memory of removing it prior to Noctis’s unexpected waking- Ignis strode for the bathroom, shrugging into the shirt as he did so.

Noctis’s presence greeted him, stimulating Ignis’s every nerve before a husky voice spoke his name. Arms circled his waist, familiar yet not, fingers pressing into his skin through the shirt, as Ignis bent to receive Noctis’s kiss. The press of his body cast off the remaining grogginess, leaving Ignis alert, aware, and growing hard.

Noctis curled his fingers around him, working his shaft with slow, deliberate movements. They sank to the pelts piled on the floor, Noctis stretching alongside him, their mouths fused together, his hand now alternating between squeezing and twisting his cock. Each pull seemed to deplete Ignis of more air, leaving him panting. 

Heat resonating from the fire burning beneath the tub distracted Ignis from the incredible sensations Noctis’s touch created. Recalled the echo of running water. “Noct,” he breathed, shuddering as Noctis left hot kisses along the underside of his chin. “Were you preparing a bath—”

“Later.” Arousal thickened Noctis’s voice. He flicked his tongue into Ignis’s mouth, cutting off his gasp when he ran his thumb along the head of his cock. “I want you _now_.”

The pronouncement, mirroring Ignis’s own desires, reignited his passion. He drew Noctis’s face to his, kissing him with a hunger matching his prince’s. 

As before, they took their time, pushing one another to his limit before changing tact. At one point, Ignis was bent over the edge of the tub, moaning into the crook of his arm as Noctis’s tongue and fingers greedily explored his entrance. These administrations left Ignis completely undone. When he came against the side of the tub with a shuddering moan, Noctis bent over him, moving his hips against Ignis’s ass as if he, too, rode the waves of orgasm. 

Once the euphoria passed, leaving Ignis breathless, Noctis turned to Ignis’s ear. “Now me,” he murmured. 

The darkness lifted from Ignis’s vision. Overcome by a rush of intense desire, he rounded in Noctis’s arms, took in the nigh-pleading look in his eyes, and bore down on him. 

Noctis’s body melted at the touch of his hands, his lips. He traced every inch of his prince, from the slope of his shoulder to the curve of his pecs. Nipped at his belly before closing his mouth over the swollen head of his cock. Noctis’s shameless moans rang in Ignis’s ears. His fingers curled into the strands of his hair, tugging, demanding he give him more. And when Ignis rolled him over, Noctis’s response was to elevate his hips into the air, hands eagerly parting his own cheeks. 

Ignis cupped that beautiful ass between his hands. Glanced up at Noctis, who peered at him over his shoulder. Flashed a greedy smile highlighted by the almost fanatic glow in those eyes. He dipped his head. The instant Ignis ran the flat of his tongue over his prince’s opening, Noctis released a long sigh that seemed to rattle his very bones. Though the sound heightened Ignis’s excitement, all his focus was for his prince. 

He kept his touches gentle, working his tongue in and out of Noctis’s body, savoring the sight and scent of him. Noctis took himself in hand, pumping erratically as he wiggled in place, seemingly unable to contain his own pleasure. And, as Ignis started fingering him, Noctis’s back arched, his every muscle tensing, effectively trapping Ignis’s fingers inside him. The air fairly crackled with energy. It caught Ignis by surprise, for the world of blues suddenly changed to one of full color. As Noctis’s orgasm tore through him, leaving him moaning in delight, Ignis stared, nearly overwhelmed by the saturation of color. It was as awesome a sight as it was a frightening one. He couldn’t keep from the small sigh of relief when his world resumed the more familiar shades of blacks and browns. 

Noctis collapsed to the floor with a grunt. Ignis kept his hands on him, following his movements as he rolled onto his back. Sensed his eyes on him, could not prevent a small, albeit proud, smile touching his lips at Noctis’s satisfied sigh.

“I trust the experience met your expectations.”

“Better.” Noctis sat up, draped his arms around Ignis’s neck. He nuzzled his throat with his lips, body trembling as he sighed. “None of my dreams can compare.”

Ignis folded him into his arms. Kissed Noctis’s temple. “There are those who say reality cannot match fantasy,” he said, thrilled beyond measure at the chance to engage his beloved in conversation again. Those nights he stood before the crypt entrance did not seem so very long ago.

“The ones who say that obviously don’t know how good you are with your tongue.” The bluntness of Noctis’s reply was tempered by affection. Nonetheless, the compliment put color into Ignis’s cheeks. 

“Nor do they know the skill of yours,” he murmured. 

Noctis chuckled in agreement. 

They held one another for a while, basking in each other’s presence, the comfortable afterglow of sex before Noctis suddenly sat upright.

“Shit, your bath. I’m sorry, Iggy. You showed up in just your shirt and…well.” He capped off his statement with a sheepish laugh that only endeared Ignis to him more. 

“Do not trouble yourself over it, Noct. Your being here saved me from inviting you to join me.”

There was a brief silence before Noctis laughed. A hearty, full-bodied laugh that warmed Ignis’s heart. “No one makes me laugh like you do, Iggy. All right. Let’s take a bath. Just don’t count on sitting in there too long. I have a lot of fantasies I want to make into reality.” 

Ignis, not missing the promise in his prince’s voice, replied in equally promising tones, “As do I.”

After sharing several kisses, Noctis went off in search of soap while Ignis drained the tub of the tepid water and refilled it. He listened to Noctis rooting through cabinets, muttering to himself over his lack of knowing where everything was. Ignis couldn’t keep from smiling. The act of preparing a bath brought back a much-needed sense of domestic tranquility. The feeling was doubled when Noctis asked if he could wash his hair for him. Ignis, touched beyond words at his request, nodded. 

One they settled into the warm water, Noctis wet and lathered Ignis’s hair. He leaned in to whisper silly, foolish things that made Ignis chuckle, recalling those instances Noctis endeavored to brighten Ignis’s mood during his recovery. Knowledge that their time was limited caught at Ignis’s heart. 

Noctis paused in the act of massaging Ignis’s scalp. “Your heartbeat jumped. Is something wrong?”

Ignis closed his eye, wishing with all his might he could tell his prince the truth. But Regis’s words came back to him, pleading: _Allow him to meet his end in peace._

Swallowing to ease the tightness in his throat, Ignis sought another concern he felt no shame in saying, for it was still the truth. “The ability to project.”

“Hmm? What of it?” Noctis resumed massaging Ignis’s scalp, concentrating on the back. 

Shivers of pleasure coursed down Ignis’s spine. Unconsciously, he leaned into Noctis’s touch. “I perceive things in shades of blue. Only before, I saw this room in full color.”

“Really?” Noctis sounded pleased. 

“Yes. It seems to be…enhanced by orgasm.” At Noctis’s light chuckle, Ignis tilted his head toward him. “You do not seem surprised.”

“Well, right now I can only do it when I’m excited. So expect to see a lot of this place.” He nibbled at the back of Ignis’s ear.

Ignis smiled at his insinuation. “I anticipate helping improve your control.”

Noctis chuckled low in his throat. “I thought you might,” he said, slipping his legs around Ignis’s waist, allowing for his partially hard cock to press to the small of Ignis’s back.

The sensation went through Ignis and settled into his groin. Heard the strain in his voice when he suggested they wait until after their bath concluded. Noctis laughed lightly and resumed washing Ignis’s hair.

After he rinsed, Ignis instructed Noctis to turn around. He did so, apparently delighting in the exquisite way his cock rubbed against Ignis’s back. Ignis clasped him to his chest, loving and lamenting his overt sexuality. Already Ignis trembled from the want to flee the tub and make for the bed. Utilizing the self-control perfected over the years, Ignis concentrated on washing Noctis’s hair. It slid through his fingers like silk, resulting in extended caresses. Noctis did not seem to mind. He tilted his head back, luxuriating in Ignis’s touch.

Ignis decided it was best to strike up a conversation lest those soft, contented sighs tax his restraint. “Projection is not a power you had prior to your long rest.”

“Dad told me Lucis vampires develop new ones over time. I didn’t believe him,” Noctis added, Ignis hearing the rueful smile in his voice. “Looks like he was right."

"Did he mention your eyes changing color when you use your power?"

"They did? Huh, guess he was right about that, too. How is he, anyway?”

Ignis, reluctant to discuss Regis at the moment, touched Noctis’s shoulder. “Lean back so I may rinse your hair.”

Noctis obliged. Ignis rubbed the strands free from soap, instructed him to sit up. “Turn around,” he said, and the water sloshed as Noctis faced him. “I can help you shave if you wish.”

Noctis caught Ignis’s hand. “I like the beard. How’s Dad? He seemed strange.”

“What do you mean?”

“I felt his presence a few times. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was saying goodbye,” Noctis said in thoughtful tones. “Did he say anything to you?”

Grief twisted Ignis’s heart. The king had made it clear they would not meet again in this life. “No. I did not know His Majesty visited you. He sent me away to investigate a potential threat to you.”

“Is that how you got these?” Noctis touched the wound on Ignis’s shoulder, the one at his throat. Anger edged his words.

Ignis bowed his head. “Yes. I am fortunate I escaped with so few injuries.”

“So who was it? Not a hunter,” Noctis said, the frown evident in his voice. “Hunters don’t leave bite marks like this. Bloodhounds do.” When Ignis tensed, Noctis swore. “Dad told me about what one of them did to a vassal. Why the hell would one come after me?”

Nothing hurt Ignis more than keeping Noctis from the truth. He pushed past the pain, the guilt. “It doesn’t matter,” he said matter-of-factly. “He is dead. The danger has passed.”

“Has it?” Noctis spoke softly.

Ignis, abruptly recalling the instance he saw Noctis while hiding from Nyx Ulric, drew in a small breath. Questions concerning Noctis’s awareness settled at the tip of his tongue. Refrained from asking them. “What are you saying?”

A brief silence passed before Noctis gripped Ignis’s shoulders. “I didn’t just dream of us like this, Iggy. I dreamed about the night those damn hunters blinded you. Everything happened like it did. Except there was someone else there. Someone I didn’t know. He killed you, right in front of me. And I couldn’t stop it.” Anguish thickened his voice. 

The warm water suddenly felt ice cold, matching the fear chilling Ignis’s heart. _He had a similar vision…_ “Noct…” 

Noctis pulled him into his arms so swiftly, water spilled onto the floor. The determination behind his embrace translated to Ignis, who buried his lips into Noctis’s damp hair. Fought tears as Noctis half growled, half sobbed, “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.” 

Ignis, hearing his oft-repeated vow fall from the lips of the one he had given himself to, felt those words sink deep into his heart, obliterating his previous fear and strengthening his fierce devotion. He did not care for the fate of Lucis vampires, the threat of the sun to vampires, the promise of a dying monarch.

All he cared for, all he had _ever_ cared for, was currently in his arms, their lips and hands finding one another, imprinting taste, touch, and scent upon the other with all the passionate fervor of those who already defied convention. 

For this was a love not merely worth dying for.

It was a love worth _living_ for.


	11. Seeds of Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate to preserve what little time his son has with Ignis, Regis convinces Lord Ravus to wait to take Noctis away. Ravus finds an unexpected ally in his plot to hunt Ignis down.

The heavy doors struck the stone walls with such force, the echo seemed to shatter the very air. 

“Where is he?” Lord Ravus burst through the entry, sending the servants scattering. He strode further inside, tracking mud along the floor. He had no thought for the curious stares generated from his appearance. Had he not been so infuriated, he would have taken exception to being seen in such a bedraggled state. Such was the power of his rage. Visions of Nyx’s pale, slackened features haunted his memory with every step. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, his teeth flashed from want to tear into his enemy. Protocol would force Regis to surrender the blind hunter in payment for Nyx’s death. 

Ravus spotted a guard boasting the Lucis family crest on his armor. “Where is your king?” The word fell from his lips like a sneer. 

The guard stiffened at the insult, but he maintained his composure. “His Majesty is currently unavailable. He sends his apologies and asked that I escort you to your assigned chambers.”

“Damn his apologies.” Fury over Nyx Ulric’s death, combined with his frustration at riding hard on muddy roads while fighting the elements, turned Ravus’s cultured voice into ice. “Fetch him at once."

Before the guard spoke, another appeared behind him, a tall, well-built man whose face expressed as much experience as dislike. He came to attention immediately, clasping a hand over his chest. “Captain. I was about to—”

The captain touched the guard’s shoulder, whispered in his ear. The other man bowed his head and stepped away. 

The click of bootheels on stone faded into the distance as the captain flung a cold, contemptuous look Ravus’s way. “I will not have my men fetching the king as if he were no more than a servant,” he said, his eyes like flint. “Especially in his own home.”

Though it had been several years since he last beheld this man, the dislike was as potent as ever. Grateful to have an outlet for his rage, Ravus smiled faintly. “Amicitia. It has been a long time. I expected you to be with your king.”

“My whereabouts are of no concern of yours,” Amicitia snapped. “You will remember your place while in this house.” 

At this, Ravus frowned. “You are in no position to lecture me on protocol. I am my liege’s man, whom presides over your king. I speak with his authority.” He chose these last words with intent, smile widening when Amicitia’s expression hardened. His hand twitched, seemingly in the direction of the sword sheathed at his hip, before he let it drop to his side. 

“As you say,” he said with clear reluctance. “If you will follow me.” 

Ravus directed one of his men to stable their chocobos. As he ventured back into the rain, emitting a series of curses as he did so, Ravus and the rest of his escort went after Amicitia. 

The taller man walked stiffly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Ravus recognized the silent threat but was not troubled by it. No more than the day he’d been ordered to take Amicitia’s bride west. The Bloodhounds had a greater need for her than her husband. Had the man any sense, he’d have taken a new bride. It seemed he was as stubborn as he was foolish- similar traits Ravus had identified in the child Amicitia’s wife bore. He smiled, debating on whether he should inform the old captain the son who wasn’t his had been granted use of his name at his broken-hearted mother’s request. Perhaps even promote him to fill the void Nyx’s death left. Hurt as he was, digging the knife into another’s heart was a joy he took solace in. 

Servants hurried ahead of the procession to open the doors leading to a grand chamber before vanishing. Amicitia entered first, a disgruntled sound passing his lips at seeing some of the kitchen staff peering through the windows. Though clouds concealed the sky, the sun’s power turned it pale gray. The sight served as a poignant reminder of how rapidly time was running out.

Amicitia addressed the servants in a sharp voice. “Return to your quarters.”

Though a few jumped at his thundering command, none moved. They stared at the vampire and Master of Bloodhounds with shameless defiance. They fairly stank of it. Ravus, in no mood to tolerate such disobedience, unsheathed his sword. Ignoring the old captain’s protest, Ravus advanced on them. 

Upon realizing his intent, two quickly backed away. The third did not. She turned to meet the end of Ravus’s sword with a fool’s courage. The blade sank into her belly easily, exiting her back with an explosion of blood to pin her to the window moulding. Her body bent forward, hands gripping the sword edge. Yet when she lifted her face to his, the spark of defiance was still there. 

He stood in front of her, head tilted as he turned the blade inside her. Enjoyed the sight of her attempts to mask the pain behind a wavering sneer. “Such bravery,” he said, as if chastising a child. “I should not complain too much. It will serve to sweeten your flavor.”

The girl coughed up blood. Droplets splattered onto the sword, the floor. She drew in a shuddering breath. “Don’t care if you kill me or eat me,” she said, her tone venomous. “All you bastards are going to die anyway.”

A heavy footstep sounded behind him. “Lord Ravus,” Amicitia growled in warning. 

Ravus ignored the captain. His senses were primed on the girl’s innate fear at death’s approach. His mouth fairly watered at the anticipation of consuming her. An appetizer to the promise of the meal to come once Regis gave him the blind hunter. 

“The way you cling to hope of the sun is truly, shall we say, _enlightening._ Neither will save you.”

The girl spat in his face. Rather than pause to wipe the spittle from his cheek, Ravus sent her a cold smile. In one, swift movement, he pulled his sword from her body and slit her throat. She collapsed to the floor, her face frozen in shock. Dragging a finger along his blade, he caught some of the blood and tasted it. Smacked his lips in appreciation. False courage tasted the best. He signaled his men to take the body to the table.

A rough hand fell on his shoulder, fingers digging into the creases of the water-soaked cape at his shoulders. “The king will not tolerate the murder of his servants,” Amicitia said. 

Ravus swept the man’s hand off as if it were poison. “Consider it a salve to my having to wait for you to bring him to me, Captain.” His words were sharp. “Time is of the essence, as you well know.”

Amicitia’s eyes narrowed. He did not favor Ravus with a response. Instead, he strode from the room with almost indecent haste. Ravus only smiled at his retreat, then ventured to the table to enjoy his meal.

His men were clearing the remains when Amicitia returned. Ravus leaned back in his chair- the king’s chair, in fact- dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin as he beheld the vampire standing alongside the captain. Given his sallow appearance, the heavy shadows in his eyes, the slight tremble in the arm gripping Amicitia’s, Ravus reckoned the sun’s power had him at its mercy. 

He signaled his men to leave the room. They bowed and departed, slipping past the two in the doorway as if they were of less importance than furniture. Amicitia did not miss the insult. He stiffened at his king’s side.

Ravus laid the napkin on the table. “Your Majesty,” he said, dipping his head. “We have much to discuss.”

“Show the king proper—” Amicitia’s angry words were cut off when Regis touched his arm. He stared at his sovereign with barely concealed surprise. “Your Majesty, he has insulted you and your home with his conduct.”

“Conduct I myself will address,” Regis said, surprising Ravus by the stern authority despite his weak appearance. “Wait outside, old friend.” 

It was clear Amicitia had no desire to wait anywhere. But the longer Regis held his gaze, the less resistant he became. “As you wish,” he murmured.

Regis smiled, pat Amicitia’s arm, before stepping away. The captain lingered long enough to send Ravus an angry look before exiting the room. The doors clicked shut.

Alone, the two men observed the other, Ravus lounging in the chair, secure in the power of his position. The old king, weakened by the sun and his own diminishing strength, yet, like the girl, seemingly refusing to relinquish himself to it. Such composure would earn a modicum of Ravus’s respect had his wrath over Nyx’s death not consumed him.

Regis approached him first, steps unwavering despite his frailty. “You did not need to kill the girl. Actions such as those paint us in a more unforgiving light.”

Ravus scoffed. “You think I care for the human chattle you shelter here?”

“No. What I expect is for you to have a care for the sanctity of this house.” Regis’s presence, though weak, still commanded respect. Especially at recalling the king’s affinity with fire. The flames in the hearth doubled in size, stretching past the grate like greedy fingers. “As our liege’s man, your actions are his actions. I doubt he would sully his ancestral home with the blood of one, frightened human. He is for the hunt, not easy prey. As you well know.”

Ravus’s hands curled into fists. The king watched him with unwavering patience. “You speak truly,” he said at last. “I crave our liege’s pardon.”

“Pardon I am certain he will grant upon your return. Now,” the king said, reaching for the chair on the opposite end of the table. Like Ravus’s, it bore the Lucis family crest, only not as elaborate. “I ask your pardon for not meeting you. I had not anticipated your arrival until the weather cleared. Storms such as these are not to be taken lightly.”

A pleasantry delivered with the proper amount of sincerity. Yet Ravus had no patience for such exchanges. “Times such as these merit the same caution,” he said shortly. “You know why I am here.”

Regis settled into the chair. The wood barely creaked under his weight. “Yes,” the king said, folding his hands on his lap. Ravus noted how skeletal they seemed. “My son’s awakening draws near. However, it is with great regret I inform you he has not yet emerged. The house is at your disposal until that day.”

“A courtesy I must refuse,” Ravus replied. “Our liege has ordered me to bring Prince Noctis to him whether he is awake or not.”

A brief look of surprise crossed the king’s face before he schooled his features. “That is an unusual request from him. My son will be able to better serve if he is fully recovered.”

Ravus stood. He held the old king’s gaze. “The sun’s current position in the sky says otherwise. Arrangements for his departure are to be made immediately. And,” he said, shaking as rage swelled within him. “You are to surrender the blind hunter to me.” 

“Ignis?” The king appeared puzzled. “Has he done something to warrant your interest?”

Ravus planted his fists on the table. “He killed one of my own. His life is mine.”

A tense silence passed. King Regis coughed into his hand. The scent of blood and death filled the air. “This is a damning accusation, Lord Ravus. Have you any proof?”

“An eyewitness identified him,” he said, caring little for the lie. Not when his need for vengeance was so strong. “I recognized his handiwork when I saw the body. Now, where is he?”

“He has been on patrol for the past few days,” the king replied- too swiftly, Ravus thought. “The storm most likely forced him to take shelter. As for my son,” he said, and his voice trembled, just so. “I recommend you wait until the storm has passed. The road west will be treacherous. Our liege may have need of him, but not at the expense of his safety. He is no good to him dead.” 

Ravus, already brimming with rage at having his demands denied, now straightened his shoulders. “You speak truly. Very well. But I will not wait to take the blind hunter into custody.”  
Now, Regis stood. “Lord Ravus,” he said sternly. “I will not simply hand Ignis over on your word. He has earned the right to defend his actions, whatever they may be. So long as he is on these premises, he is under my protection. Is that understood?”

Ravus’s curt reply vanished as he registered the meaning behind the king’s words. He gave the king a solemn nod. 

Regis’s hard expression did not waver, though the power of his presence lessened. “Now that these matters are settled,” he said, gesturing to the doors. They opened as if on command, revealing Amicitia, eyes sharp and hand at his sword. “Clarus will escort you to your rooms. You will find your men quartered in the west annex.”

Matters were far from settled in Ravus’s mind. Nor did he recognize Amicitia’s presence as anything other than a warning. “We will resume this discussion at storm’s end. Until then,” he said, giving the king a brief bow and taking his leave. He heard Amicitia’s grunt of disapproval at his back before he fell into step behind him. Ravus sensed King Regis watching them as they passed into a corridor.

Neither man spoke. Ravus noted the drawn curtains on the windows, the guards standing at attention as Amicitia passed, the curious faces peering through doorways. Fear and uncertainty thickened the air, as did anticipation. Hope. Those vampires who had lived through the previous Ascension smiled in Ravus’s direction. Others demonstrated interest. Whispers reached his ears, whispers pertaining to Prince Noctis. One in particular caught his eye, a sharp-eyed, sullen man who scowled at mention of the prince’s lover. Ravus smiled. It seemed not everyone shared the king’s sentiments. 

The pair ascended a long flight of stairs. Long familiarity with the halls had him dismiss Amicitia. “I know my way from here, Captain. I am certain you are needed elsewhere,” he said, unable to keep from smiling at the other man’s glower. “Oh, one more thing. You should consider coming west with me. The son who might have been yours has turned into a fine Bloodhound.”  
Anger flooded Amicitia’s features. Ravus smiled again, stepped into his quarters, and summarily closed the doors in the captain’s face. 

The delight at Amicitia’s expense stayed with him as he washed and changed, answered the tremulous knock at his door and rejected the company of those seeking his favor. He and his men shared a hearty laugh over it. None of them could provide the pleasure he truly sought. 

Later that night, someone slid a note under his door. Expecting another invitation to share his bed, Ravus’s amusement turned to satisfaction once he read the message. Chuckling, he folded it and thrust it into the fire. The paper turned in on itself as its corners blackened. The words, however, were illuminated, branding themselves on his memory.

_I shall await you in the library two hours past the sun’s descent tomorrow. If it’s the prince’s lover you seek, I can help you find him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter, everyone! I'd always meant to include Clarus in this AU. He needs some love, too. Bonus: his introduction has opened the door for Gladio and Prompto in later chapters. :) Thanks one and all for taking the time to read and comment!


	12. Bloodhound's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravus's plan for revenge reaches fruition.

Wind lashed the rain against the windows, muting Ravus’s footsteps as he made his way down the corridor. Unlike his arrival a few nights ago, the presence of onlookers and gawking servants had receded. The latter no doubt avoided him after the human girl’s death, the former secluded while the sun slowly crawled its way into the sky. This included several of King Regis’s own men, Amicitia among them. They had been recalled to the ailing king’s rooms to offer whatever assistance they could. Ravus didn’t concern himself with them. Their absence allowed for him to carry out his plan in relative secrecy.

One of his own met him at the end of the hall. He paused to bow, the white and blue gilding on his armor glimmering under the torch light. “We have him, my lord.”

“Where?” Ravus concealed his excitement behind a terse response.

“The tack room. Shall I accompany you?”

Ravus shook his head. “You and the others I’ve assigned posts will remain here. You know what to do.”

At this, the man nodded. “We will be ready.”

“Good.” Ravus started for the exit, pausing only to cast a brief glance of dislike at the stormy skies before pressing on. His hair and clothes grew sodden within moments. He cast the discomfort aside. What was a little damp compared to the prize awaiting him? 

The broken stones making up the courtyard glistened beneath the rain’s onslaught. Debris whipped up by the winds were scattered all around. Ravus stepped carefully over puddles, hand resting easy on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the stables. Beneath the scent of rain, the sea, and earth lingered feed, the aroma of chocobos. The oils in their skin created a peculiar scent akin to marinating meat. Ravus covered his mouth and nose at the stench. While perfectly capable of consuming cooked flesh, he preferred the scent- and taste- of a fresh kill. 

The tack room, situated past the stables housing several birds, shared the rustic simplicity of many of the homes Ravus had seen on the road. The one exception lay in the pair of armed men guarding the entrance. The Master of Bloodhounds greeted them with a curt nod as he passed through the doorway.

Like the stable, the strong scent of feed and chocobo lingered, as well as oiled leather. A seated figure glanced up at Ravus’s approach. Winced at the brilliance flooding the room. Instinct had him shade his eyes. When Ravus finally closed the door, the sullen vampire shot him a sharp look.

“Your men did not need to take me from my chamber as if I were a prisoner.”

Ravus cracked a half smile. “Forgive their nature,” he said, though with little sincerity. It was no secret among his brothers they enjoyed exercising their strength against vampires. “I instructed them to take you here. They were liberal with my meaning.”

The vampire grunted and folded his arms. “A simple message would have done.”

“I am not in the habit of slipping messages under doorways in the middle of the night,” Ravus said. “Especially where I am not welcome, and especially when meetings designate well populated areas.”

At this, the vampire paled. “I believed the library to be best- I did not think…”

“You didn’t.” Ravus spoke frankly, for his irritation at having to delay this encounter by a few days still rankled. He paced in front of the vampire, fingers flexing over the sword hilt. He focused on the wall, the array of saddle and harness hanging from metal hooks. “You claim you can assist me in finding the prince’s lover. Tell me how.”

The vampire then launched into a series of opinions so rife with pettiness and something closely resembling envy, Ravus nearly walked out. However, the off-hand comment at the end of his complaints seized his attention. 

Ravus leaned in close. “He does not stay in the house?”

For a moment, it seemed the vampire was offended Ravus did not share his opinion on the blind hunter’s worth. “Not since the prince went into the crypt. I’ve only ever seen him eat here.”

“And where does he go to rest if not here?”

“There’s a lodge about a mile down the road. _My_ lodge,” he added with a dark scowl, and Ravus finally understood the source of his dislike. “The king ordered me to open it to him. My family and I have been living here like damn tenants. I watch him come and go as if he were nobility. The king is a fool to trust him. Why, he abandoned the crypt about two weeks ago. So much for loyalty,” he said with a derisive sniff.

Ravus’s smile turned strained. The timeframe matched when Nyx departed for his mission. “Would he be in his- forgive me, _your_ \- lodge at this moment?” 

The correction caused the vampire’s eyes to flash. “If not, there’s surely something in there that will help you track him. They say nothing gets past a Bloodhound.”

 _Nothing except this damnable blind hunter,_ Ravus thought. Anger made the hand at his sword twitch. “Take me there.”

As he spoke, the door opened, admitting the two guards. The vampire’s gaze traveled from them to Ravus. “Would it not be wiser to wait for the sun to go down?”

“For you, perhaps, but not for me.” Ravus took a step forward, flashed a feral smile. The vampire could not conceal the fear briefly appearing in his eyes. “Come now. What is a little weakness in comparison to reclaiming your home? I for one can understand the comfort to be had with familiar walls.”

The vampire considered his appeal. In the end, the personal insult outweighed his instinctive fear of sunlight. “I have a carriage. We won’t have to—” 

“There’s no time to hitch a carriage, I’m afraid. We must be discreet. You understand,” he said, smiling inwardly at the vampire’s crestfallen expression. That he’d never been party to deception in however many years he lived was obvious. Had he not given him the information he needed, he wouldn’t have sought him out.

When the vampire gave a resigned sigh, Ravus signaled his men. They flanked him, blocking the light long enough to put some relief into their new ally’s eyes. “Lead on. We shall follow.”

The four departed the stables, the raging storm and cover of trees ensuring their silent passage. Rain turned what would have been a beaten dirt road in a muddy quagmire. Ravus and his men, dressed in sturdy clothes meant for long travel, trudged through without so much as a complaint. The vampire, wearing an outfit better suited for a comfortable stay indoors, cursed under his breath as mud threatened to wrench the boots from his feet. Ravus didn’t miss the amused smiles on his men’s faces. 

By the time they reached the lodge, almost invisible among the cluster of trees, all four were thoroughly soaked. Yet the moment he saw his home, the vampire hurried toward it, heedless of the mud his boots kicked up. After withdrawing a key from his pocket, he practically shoved the door down in his haste to get inside. A sharp cry of dismay soon followed.

Ignoring the string of complaints issuing from inside the lodge, Ravus motioned for one of his men to stand watch. He took his place as the Master of Bloodhounds and the remaining guard crossed the threshold.

The lodge’s rustic aesthetic did not extend to its décor. The rooms were richly furnished, from the velvet-backed chair to the heavy curtains on the windows. Ravus stepped further in, senses primed. The air was thick with the stench of a human presence. He moved about the rooms, dimly aware of the vampire as he gave voice to whatever compounded his personal misery. Ravus delved past the new scents their entrance introduced into the environment in search of older ones. Ones that hung in the air like bits of dirt in a crevice, present but just out of reach. These old smells were present in front of the hearth, where a cooking spit had been erected, as well as the bathroom, but lacked definition. Ravus concentrated his search in the bedroom.

Much like the rest of the lodge, the bedroom contained furnishings better suited for a royal suite. He approached the bed, absently running his fingers along the richly embroidered covers. Two pillows were neatly propped at the head, a noticeable depression on the left one. Ravus picked it up, sniffed the case. A unique odor teased his senses. It lingered in the back of his throat, one he could recall at a moment’s notice. 

He smiled. 

_I have you now._

“Have you seen the state of my home?” The vampire appeared beside Ravus, a veritable picture of horror. “It will take me years to purify it, _years._ I will appeal to His Majesty. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

Ravus set the pillow down. “You will find your king unwilling to extract payment for something so insignificant.”

“Insignificant?” The vampire swelled up, his teeth flashing. “My lord, this is my home, my sanctuary. It is not—”

“But it is,” Ravus stated just as his guard appeared in the doorway, hands folded across his chest. “For your appeal to be heard, your grievances will have to be of greater import than a sullied home.” His hand slid to the sword hilt.

Understanding surfaced in the vampire’s eyes. Whatever protest he may have given never made it past his lips, for Ravus swiftly cut his throat. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking the vampire’s fine clothing, then the bedspread when he collapsed. Ravus flicked the blood from his sword with a flourish, the desire to taste him absent. He’d already exceeded his usefulness.

Standing over the bed, Ravus smiled down at the dying vampire. “I’d say finding you dead and bearing the hallmark of the blind hunter’s signature kill will suffice,” he said softly. “Don’t you?”  
The vampire struggled to speak, then sagged in place. 

Turning from the body, Ravus slid his sword home. “Make sure he is discovered by the patrols. Even Regis will not be able to protect him from this outrage.”

The guard bowed his head. “What of Prince Noctis, my lord? He has a reputation for being unreasonable.”

Ravus dismissed the comment with a frown. “The prince will know his place soon enough. Go take care of the body.”

“My lord.” 

After his man returned to the bedroom, Ravus scanned the area in front of the hearth. Noted the wooden box tucked into an alcove. Smelled the poison before he removed a vial, cradled it on his palm. That such a small thing led to Nyx’s end rekindled his fury. 

With a snarl, he kicked the box across the room. It crashed against the leg of a chair, the top clasp coming undone to allow several vials to clatter to the floor. Only the need to incriminate his enemy further prevented him from crushing the one he held. He slipped the vial into his pocket and turned away, his footsteps echoed by his guard as the man emerged carrying the dead vampire. They ventured back into the elements in silence.

As they left the lodge behind, Ravus envisioned taking his enemy apart piece by piece, and preferably while still alive. He owed Nyx that much. 

***

King Regis lay in bed, gaze fixed on the outline of Clarus’s body as he stood before the window. Though the curtains remained closed, the thick material did little to alleviate the persistent heaviness in his body, the equally persistent sense his time was nearing its end. Not in the accepted way accompanied by growing older. It hovered at his shoulder like a physical thing, cold yet welcoming, as if he’d been away for centuries and only now spots his home on the horizon. His wife, once committed to dreams, appeared before him as if she still held physical form. 

_Let go, Regis,_ she seemed to be saying. 

And Regis, while aching to join her, for those moments when every move did not bring pain or weakness, sent his heartfelt apologies. For he held on for Noctis. He needed to know his son safely on his way west, Ignis at his side, before surrendering to eternal darkness. 

Clarus pulled the curtain back for what seemed to be the hundredth time. The frown creasing his lined features concerned the king.

“Is something the matter?” Regis spoke in the raspy tones of an old man, and felt gratitude that only his dear friend was present to hear it. 

Clarus’s jaw was set as if made of stone, his eyes hard as he squinted into the distance. “Some of my men reported Lord Ravus had left the premises a few hours ago,” he said, dislike for the Master of Bloodhounds as strong as the day Clarus lost his wife. 

Regis’s heart, as always, went out to him. While the king had no authority to override the command, the man continued to mourn her loss. And, when Noctis had been born some years later, Regis recalled the anguish in Clarus’s eyes as he held the infant. The child denied him. How often had they talked of their children growing up together…

“He has leave to go where he wishes,” Regis said, not missing the way Clarus’s hand curled around the curtain. “Unless you believe something is amiss. Speak freely, old friend.”

It took the captain a moment to respond. “I question his intentions.”

“You refer to his haste to collect my son,” Regis murmured. His chest felt hollow every time he thought of Noctis, of not being able to see or hear him again in this life.

Clarus bowed his head. “I want to believe the sun’s quickening is to blame, but…” He grunted, clearly frustrated. “I do not believe he has the prince’s best interests at heart.”

Regis’s gaze drifted to the oil portrait he’d had commissioned of he, his wife, and Noctis as a young boy. Where the two of them were fully colored, his wife’s image was pale, incomplete. The king’s grief had been too great to allow the artist to complete the picture. “I share your sentiment. But he is duty-bound to see to my son’s safe passage, and Ignis will not let anything happen to him.”

Clarus nodded. Like the king, he held Ignis in the highest regard. But worry weighed heavily in his eyes. “Lord Ravus’s claim against Ignis is dire, Your Majesty. He wants vengeance. I see it in his eyes. I fear what may happen if he attempts to avenge his fallen man’s life. He’s already shown limited restraint.” Guilt and anger over the human girl’s death shown in every line of him.

Regis, too, sorrowed for the girl’s death. Yet his mind and heart were for Noctis. “You wonder if my son will endanger himself to defend the man he loves, or if Ignis adds another life to the ones he’s already taken,” Regis said, rightly interpreting Clarus’s meaning given the other man’s troubled expression. 

“It does present some cause for concern.”

Regis’s gaze returned to the portrait. “Ignis knows the importance these days bring. There is little we can do but trust in his good sense, and my son’s.”

“A man may be skilled with a sword, but he’ll fall on it all the same if love drives him,” Clarus said in solemn tones.

A truth Regis regretfully accepted. “Then I shall count on your good sense to ensure no one is bloodied by his own blade. And to hold Lord Ravus accountable for his actions. You will speak with my authority.” He did not say, _For I will never leave this chamber under my own power again._

Awareness entered Clarus’s eyes. “My place is at your side, Your Majesty,” he said, loyal to his very bones.

“Your place is at the king’s side,” Regis countered, speaking over the coughing fit not even the taste of blood could abate. “My son may wear an intangible crown but a short while, it makes him no less a king, nor undeserving of your allegiance.”

Finality hung in the air between them. At last, Clarus acknowledged the king’s request with a small nod. His eyes shone with powerful emotion. “I am at Your Majesty’s service,” he said, recalling that day, so long ago, when he went on bended knee and pledged his loyalty to a newly-crowned king. The memory proved so powerful, so poignant, it deprived Regis of the ability to speak. But the smile he exchanged with his oldest friend told all.

Movement outside the window drew Clarus’s attention. Drawing the curtain back with a finger, he scowled at the happenings below. Regis did not have to ask him what he saw. The tension in his friend’s body told all, as did the echo of raised voices outside. 

The sudden rapping at the door had Clarus whirl in place. A muffled voice called to him from the hall. Clarus started forward, paused at the foot of the king’s bed.

Regis dismissed him with a trembling hand. “Speak with your man. I shall be quite all right here.”

Reluctance entered Clarus’s eyes, but he bowed his head. “Majesty,” he said, clapping his hand over his heart. Rapid footsteps signaled his swift departure.

The king lay back against the pillows, fingers curling into the folds of the bedsheets. Though aware of the hushed whispers of Clarus’s conversation, Regis’s focus remained on the portrait. The longer he stared at it, the clearer his wife’s image became. Tears entered the king’s eyes as each contour, each color, were brought to life by a ghostly brush. Weariness, blood hunger, and pain drifted into the back of his mind. Resilience crumbling, his eyelids drooped. 

A hand at his shoulder pulled him from the promise of darkness. 

“Majesty?” Clarus spoke softly, urgently. “We have a situation.” 

Blinking back to himself, Regis took in Clarus’s tense expression, the grim set of his mouth. “What has happened?”

“A body was discovered by one of the patrols, the throat slit, poison in the wound.” Clarus shook his head. “It was one of ours. There are those who believe Ignis is responsible. The family has already sent their men in search of him. And,” he said, his frown darkening. “Several of our own have joined them at Lord Ravus’s request.” 

A jolt of fear shook Regis’s heart. Damn Ravus for taking advantage of the suspicions and mistrust those in his court harbored. For taking advantage of his weakness. 

He forced himself to sit up, ignoring his friend’s protests. “Clarus,” he rasped. “You must—”

“Captain!” A guard hurried into the chamber. Only the gravity of his next words excused such lapse in manners. “Lord Ravus and his men are gathering in front of the crypt. They want to take the prince!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, everyone. Things aren't looking too good for our good boys.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting!


	13. Never Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emotional request from Noctis has Ignis considering revealing the truth of the Ascension to him. Things take a turn for the worst when Ravus and his men storm the crypt.

Outside, time remained ever flowing, its passage marked by minutes of a clock, the shifting of shadows. Within the crypt, however, it operated by neither clock nor shadows, but the respites between intense lovemaking sessions. For Ignis, these instances were briefly acknowledged until a ready hand reached for his, soft, full lips sought his mouth, and he existed beyond the boundaries of time once again.

In those moments where they spoke with words instead of heavy panting or soft sighs, Ignis reflected on Noctis’s passionate declaration shortly after his awakening. His joy could not be understated, his love never more absolute. But sometimes, just before exhaustion set in, his thoughts took a downward turn. For a terrible truth awaited them beyond this chamber. Part of him resented the king for burdening him with it. Left him silently screaming every night since. This was a wound nothing, not time nor his lover’s gentle touch, could heal. A scar branded across his soul, unseen but paralyzing in its intensity. His misery defined by the memory of that voice from his vision. 

_You will never see him again._

_You’ve already lived without him, Ignis._

Both statements presented a bleak future he wanted nothing to do with. There was only one future he wanted. 

_How_ to achieve it was another matter entirely. 

The feel of fingertips idly caressing his chest brought Ignis’s troubling thoughts to a halt. They lay on the pelts in front of the hearth, as they often did at the hunter’s lodge during those few, blissful weeks before tragedy struck. Turning his face to his lover, he laid a hand over Noctis’s, stilling his caresses. Though he still hungered for his touch, he could no longer actively ignore the aches and pains resulting from giving into it, or the tenderness of the places Noctis drank from him. Not all centered on his neck or the junction of his shoulder.

“Noct…” he murmured.

“Mm?” Noctis freed a finger from beneath Ignis’s hand to touch his left nipple, which stiffened at the contact. 

“Noct,” Ignis said again. Or at least that was what he _wanted_ to say. A soft sigh passed his lips instead. 

Seeing it as an invitation, Noctis leaned in to suckle at the erect nipple. Ignis’s capability for coherent thought fractured, as always, at his prince’s caresses. The graze of teeth against the sensitive skin brought about a sharp gasp, which resolved into a moan of pleasure at the warm, wet feel of his tongue. Feeling his arousal growing, he pressed his hand to the back of Noctis’s head, fingers threading in his hair. Just as he was about to insist he keep going- because ‘stop’ was a foreign word in Ignis’s mind when it came to his beloved- Noctis released him.

Ignis gazed in his direction, the question lost when Noctis pressed a soft, tender kiss to his mouth. “You looked like you were drifting away,” he said at their parting, and Ignis felt his heart twist at his beloved’s perception. “Is something wrong?”

Ignis touched Noctis’s face. Cherished the rough feel of bristles against his palm. “Forgive me. I believe our activity has simply caught up to me.” 

“Oh.” Noctis leaned into Ignis’s hand. Felt the smile curling the edge of his lips. “Sorry about that. Just missed you so much.” 

Ignis smiled fondly at him. “As did I. But even I need to rest.”

“Hmm.” Noctis lightly nipped at Ignis’s palm. “I guess you’ve earned it.” 

Ignis inclined his head. “Quite generous of you,” he replied in dry tones, smiling when Noctis gave a put-upon sigh. He eased himself into an upright position, conscious of the dried come between his cheeks, the fresh bite marks there. “It has been some time since you fed. I alone cannot be enough for you.”

Movement sounded behind him, followed by the welcome feel of arms circling his shoulders. Noctis nuzzled against the back of his neck. “No,” he said, his breath warming Ignis’s skin. “But you taste a lot better.”

Ignis turned his head so his lips grazed the top of Noctis’s head. Smiled as he said, “You honor me.” 

Noctis chuckled softly. “You should be. I’m going to be king.”

Normally such fine conceit deserved a proper rebuke. But Ignis couldn’t find the words. Not when his comment touched upon the truth behind the Ascension. Fortunately, Noctis spared him from having to come up with a clever retort, for after another teasing nip at his skin, he pulled away. Ignis listened to his footsteps recede into the distance, unable to cast the chill from his body, his heart. There _had_ to be a way to avoid his fate. 

After a quick bath- much quicker now that Noctis wasn’t with him- Ignis prepared a meal. The task helped put his mind at ease, allowing, at least for now, a distraction from thoughts he couldn’t quite banish. 

Arms slipped around his waist. Noctis’s scent and presence washed over him, causing his heart to flutter. 

“You’re dressed.” Noctis sounded disappointed.

Ignis chuckled as he added ingredients to the pot with a deft hand. “I remembered your earlier want to practice your projection,” he said. “I felt we’d have an easier time perfecting it by removing temptations.”

Noctis’s answer was to press his groin against Ignis’s ass, allowing him to feel the swell of his erection, the tip damp with precome. “Well, it’s not working,” he said in husky tones, hands now kneading the flesh of Ignis’s ass. “All I want to do now is get you out of them.”

Ignis, struggling to maintain his composure in the wake of those caresses, nonetheless managed a steady reply. “Consider it a reward for yourself then,” he said. “I am as anxious for your success.” 

Noctis went still. Then he emitted a resigned groan. “Dammit, Iggy. All right. We’ll do it your way.”

“I’m glad you have chosen the better part of wisdom.” He smiled as he set the lid on the pot. “Might I suggest clothing yourself?”

Noctis laid his cheek against Ignis’s back. “No distractions, right?” he grumbled good-naturedly.

“Right.”

A brief pause before Noctis made a small grunt. “Let’s see how long it lasts,” he said, and his devious grin couldn’t be more obvious. 

Ignis answered with a rueful smile.

After Noctis had donned some of Ignis’s clothes- he hadn’t considered his own growth when he arranged for their time here- he set the two chairs back to their original place in front of the hearth. Noctis’s offhand comment about his chair needing a replacement leg, purposely timed as Ignis sampled some of the broth, nearly forced him to spit it back out. He wiped at his chin with a napkin, conscious of Noctis’s gaze, the sly smile tugging at his lips. Ignis sighed. Insatiable as always. 

“You mentioned a need to be excited to use the ability,” he said, turning the conversation to a less suggestive topic. “Do you think it is associated with how you feel overall?”

“Yeah,” Noctis answered. “Is that why you’re sitting so far away?”

“Arm’s length is hardly a comparable distance,” he said, though in truth he understood Noctis’s need. They had not gone without even the slightest contact since his awakening. “Perhaps if you attempted to think of something that makes you happy in…other ways.”

Noctis laughed lightly. “You mean besides you. Well,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Now that you mention it, yeah. I have been thinking of something else.”

Curious at the somewhat hesitant tone, Ignis tilted his head in his direction. “What would that be?”

Another brief pause before Noctis answered in a low voice. “It’s my dad.”

Ignis drew in a small breath. Couldn’t find the strength to answer, so he said nothing as Noctis went on in a halting voice. Where Noctis never shied away from his love for Ignis, the ability to accurately describe his relationship with the king seemed just beyond his grasp. To hear him talk of it now, particularly his want to tell his father how much he appreciated him, tore at Ignis’s heart. But he forced the pain down to focus on the sound of Noctis’s voice. The joy at the prospect of seeing his father again. 

When he trailed off, Ignis could keep silent no longer. “His Majesty asked me to deliver a message to you.”

“He did?” Eagerness limned his words. “What did he say?”

“He said…” Now Ignis paused, finding the truth stuck in the back of his throat.

_Wheresoever he may go, I shall always be with him._

Ignis swallowed and tried again. “He said…” 

“Yeah? Come on, Iggy, don’t keep me in suspense,” Noctis chided fondly.

Ignis turned his face toward Noctis. No. He couldn’t do it. Not after such an emotional admission. So he sought another truth just as important, if not more so. 

He smiled reassuringly at his prince. “That he’s very proud of you.”

Noctis went still for a long time. Ignis sharpened his senses. With no breath and no pulse to listen for, all he had to go by was the feel of his presence. 

Slowly, Ignis’s vision changed. Blurred silhouettes manifested all around him, shapes soon sharpened by clarity, their surfaces shimmering varying shades of blue. When his gaze settled on Noctis’s face, all but his eyes changed color. Starlit eyes, shimmering with powerful emotion, while a small, shaky smile tugged at his lips. Ignis’s heart skipped a beat. Noctis had never appeared more beautiful, or more fragile, to him than he did in this moment. 

Noctis’s lips moved over words he couldn’t seem to voice. He settled for a small laugh, the kind of reaction made when presented with something both unexpected and too big to process. 

“He…he said that, huh?” 

Ignis bowed his head, too caught up in his prince’s happiness to speak, to feel the twinges of guilt in the back of his mind. 

Noctis laughed again, wiped at his eyes. “I can’t wait to see him again, Iggy. There’s so much I want to tell him.”

Again, Ignis’s heart twisted with pain. “His Majesty looks forward to it,” he said, hoping Noctis didn’t hear the sorrow behind his words.

Noctis murmured a response. Then his eyes locked with Ignis’s. The emotion he saw within them remained burned in Ignis’s memory as his vision darkened once more. “Let’s try it again. Don’t worry, Iggy. I’ll get better for you. I want you to see all the time.” 

Ignis, moved beyond words at Noctis’s thoughtfulness, responded with a soft smile. 

They spent the next half hour speaking of other happy memories. While each one helped bring about a measure of control not seen in his previous attempts, physical contact enhanced its effectiveness. This also proved most troubling, since neither could maintain contact long enough without succumbing to desire. 

They fought it off for as long as possible until, predictably, they wound up on the floor, a tangle of limbs and discarded clothing, Ignis’s lips bruised from Noctis’s kisses, his ears ringing with the sound of Noctis’s moans as he straddled him, fingers curled around their cocks. The euphoria took them both at nearly the same instant, leaving them trembling in each other’s arms, the evidence of their joint pleasure quickly drying on their skin. Only the hiss of boiling water reminded Ignis of his meal. Had it not been for Noctis’s maintaining his control over his projection, Ignis was almost certain he would have tripped over his own feet in his haste to address the cooking pot. Noctis, having the grace to look abashed, offered to help Ignis with preparations. 

After tending to their mess, they sat across from one another, half-dressed, exchanging as many smiles as sounds of exasperation. But Ignis didn’t have the heart to be truly frustrated. To see Noctis so determined to cut strips of meat, chop vegetables, and measure pinches of spices put tears into Ignis’s eyes. It only reinforced his desire to make certain they had a future together.

Once all the ingredients were added to the pot, Ignis set to stirring it. Noctis lay alongside him, as content as a sleek cat, seemingly unconcerned with the state of his hair, his lack of a shirt, his unbuttoned pants. His disregard only made Ignis more aware of his own disheveled state. 

“You were making food that time, too,” Noctis suddenly said.

Ignis paused in his stirring. “Pardon?”

A somewhat sheepish look crossed Noctis’s face. “Oh. Right. I never told you.”

“Of what? I’ve eaten many times in front of you.”

“True,” Noctis said. “This was before.”

Intrigued, Ignis set the spoon on the notch above the pot. “This occurred the night we met?”

Noctis bowed his head. His voice was soft, his eyes reflective. “I’d heard your campsite about a mile away. Everyone else sat around the fire, talking and laughing. Not you. You sat alone. Just making food. Everything about you was- _is_ \- so elegant. Graceful. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. But you also seemed lonely. A little sad. And I wanted to know why.”

Ignis didn’t respond. It had not been the first time he’d been described as thus during his time with the hunters. Knowing, and loving, Noctis brought understanding as to why he gave others the impression. 

Noctis reached for him. Ignis clasped his hand. “I wanted nothing more than to make you happy. To see you smile and hear you laugh. And I was afraid I’d never get the chance. Even when I called out to you, I feared you’d run. You didn’t. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.” 

Ignis, overcome by emotion, the love in his prince’s eyes, swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Noct…”

But he pressed on, seemingly overwhelmed by the strength of the memory, his feelings. “You stayed with me. Fought for me. Killed for me. Suffered for me,” he said, rising to his knees to rain kisses on the scar over Ignis’s left eye, the one at his neck and shoulder. He held Ignis’s face between his hands. “I love seeing you like this. Relaxed, happy. Half-naked,” he added with a flirtatious smile. “I missed it so much. I missed _you._ ”

Ignis leaned in to touch his brow to Noctis’s. Rested his hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh. He felt dizzy, overjoyed, frightened by the intensity of his feelings, yet welcomed them. “Noct,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. “I knew I wanted to be by your side the moment we met. That has not changed. Now I want nothing more than to see the kind of man you’ll be. To see you live.”

Noctis paused in trailing his lips down the bridge of Ignis’s nose. “What do you mean by that?” 

Inwardly, Ignis swore. He hadn’t meant to say it in such blunt fashion. But his heightened emotional state bared his soul to the only one who ever mattered to him.

He ran his hands along Noctis’s shoulders and down his arms, the curve of his muscle. “Forgive me. I am affected by all we’ve shared here.”

Noctis leaned away. The warmth built up between their bodies fled, leaving Ignis as chilled as the first night he slept without Noctis beside him. 

“There’s more to it. Iggy,” he said, his tone soft but commanding. “Look at me.”

Ignis did so, unable to deny his prince anything. 

Noctis searched his face. The intensity of his gaze broke through Ignis’s defenses, leaving him as exposed as a raw nerve. “It’s because I’ll be king, isn’t it? You’re worried it’ll keep us apart.”

 _Your destiny is what will do it,_ is what he longs to say. Ignis chokes it back, along with the heartache. Sought other lines of logic, anything to distract Noctis from uncovering the truth.

“A King of Lucis taking on a human consort will not be looked on in a positive light.”

“To hell with that,” Noctis said, dismissing countless generations of strife between their races. “I’m going to be the last one, anyway.”

At this, Ignis sent him a swift glance. Did he know? “I do not understand.”

Noctis directed his gaze to the fire. Its light danced across the fine planes of his face. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About vampires and humans. How we’re always struggling against one another. It doesn’t have to be that way. Look at the border towns. We’re already halfway there. We just need to go a little further. I think we can show them the way, together.”

Together. The word caught at Ignis’s heart. Extended to the feel of Noctis’s hand on his. His smile was so full of love, of hope, it nearly stilled Ignis’s breathing. Something settled in his eyes, meaningful, profound. “Iggy. I’ve wanted to ask you this for a long time. I—”

His expression lost its warm glow. Eyes once reflecting adoration now darkened. Then his lips peeled back into a pained grimace, a low sound of distress emerged from his lips. Ignis was on his knees in front of him, hands gripping his. Had to suppress the jolt of fear deep in his soul at how cold Noctis felt.

Yet as frightening as this was, nothing prepared him for the shadows sinking into Noctis’s eyes, the shifting darkness on the floor behind him. It happened so quickly, he couldn’t be sure it happened at all.

Noctis collected himself. Flashed a wan smile that did little to alleviate Ignis’s worry. “I’m fine,” he rasped. 

“No, you’re not,” Ignis answered, speaking firmly. “You’ve been as active as I have these past few days. Perhaps you should consider resting.”

Noctis shook his head. “I’m tired of resting. I’ve been doing nothing else for ten years.”

“Noct, please.” Ignis pressed Noctis’s hands. “I think—”

“I said I’m fine.” He went to stand, only to grip his head and drop to a knee. Ignis joined him, a supporting arm at his waist. Noctis released what sounded like a low grunt of resignation. He turned his face toward Ignis, who lowered his head so their brows touched. They remained like that for some moments, finding peace in the other’s presence. 

Noctis’s arm slid around Ignis’s shoulders. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, speaking softly. “I’ll rest, but only if you’re in bed with me.”

Ignis smiled as he brushed his lips against Noctis’s temple. “You needn’t ask.” 

Once he took his meal off the flames, they retreated to bed. Noctis leaned heavily against his shoulder, which worried him. It seemed whatever ailed Noctis might be more than lack of rest. But he had no thought for it as Noctis pulled him down onto the bed. His mouth was on Ignis’s instantly, hands wandering where they may, pushing at his shirt so it slid off his shoulders. Ignis, calling up every ounce of self-control he had, gently encouraged Noctis to settle down and sleep. Noctis’s reply was a sound of disappointment before he laid his head on Ignis’s chest.

Ignis held him close, a soft smile on his lips as he absorbed the scene before him: Noctis’s cheek resting directly above his heart, the sweep of hair over his brow, the arm draped across his middle. As his vision started to dim, Ignis exhaled and closed his eye in anticipation of sleep. 

But then Noctis’s voice reached him in the darkness, halting his descent into dreams. And what he heard brought tears to his eyes.

“…want to marry you, Iggy…” 

His breath caught in his throat. Spoke Noctis’s name was a strangled whisper. But Noctis did not hear him. He quieted in his arms, his presence as subtle as breath. 

Marriage. A concept Ignis only allowed himself to indulge in his dreams. The time apart from Noctis sharpened these dreams, the need to make them a reality, only to have Noctis’s fate shatter them.

But now this was a reality Noctis wanted, too. 

Ignis buried his lips into Noctis’s hair. Breathed in deep the familiar scent of him. The truth of the Ascension was something he could no longer keep quiet. Noctis needed- no, deserved- to know. For only then could they both work toward a way of avoiding the inevitable. 

The revelation proving too much for him to rest, Ignis carefully slipped out from beneath Noctis. He settled onto the pillows without a sound. Ignis caressed Noctis’s cheek with light fingers, then rose to his feet. Knowing Noctis needed to feed once he woke sent Ignis to the crypt. He’d intended on taking inventory of the remaining blood stores for some time. Though the chest had been filled to generous capacity, it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, Noctis would have to hunt. He wouldn’t do it alone, of course. Hunters still prowled the region. He’d be damned if one of them hurt his beloved again. 

The chill air of the crypt, sharp contrast to the relative warmth of the other room, had Ignis huddling inside his shirt as he approached the chest. The smooth exteriors of the bottles brushed against his questing fingers as he counted the remainder. The number had dwindled to less than half. Noctis’s need to hunt was closer than he expected. 

Ignis retrieved three bottles, set them on the floor. The sound of glass striking stone reverberated in the air, creating an unpleasant ringing in Ignis’s ears. But, as he sealed the chest and bent to collect the bottles, he tensed. The ringing had changed. A low throbbing seemed to shake the very ground.

And it came from outside.

Ignis slowly placed the bottles back on the ground. Turned his face toward the crypt opening, his senses primed to the rising swell of noise. Slowly, he crept closer, tuning out everything, right down to his own heartbeat, in his attempt to decipher the happenings beyond.

Voices. Dozens of them. Angry. Shouting. One rising above them all, a cold, cultured voice issuing commands. At hearing his own name, Ignis frowned. At hearing Noctis’s name, he tensed.

Had they come for him?

No. 

Not while Ignis lived.

The unexpected rumble of grinding stone assaulted Ignis’s senses. Clapping one hand over his ear, teeth clenching from the pain, he dropped back, intent on retreating to the next chamber and barricading the door. 

A sudden blast of energy threw Ignis off his feet. He collided with the chest, the impact so staggering, it knocked the breath from him. Slipping to the floor, lungs burning from want of air, Ignis could do nothing but listen to the stone door shift out of place. 

The scent of rain, mud, and the sea filled the room, overpowering in their intensity. Ignis forced himself to his hands and knees, only to collapse when a second blast crashed through the room. It seemed to blow the door off its supports, for it crashed to the ground with a deafening sound. It tore through Ignis. He cried out. 

Then he felt something he never experienced before. A tingling in the air. The sense the room was brighter. 

Ignis turned his face upward, flinched at the power emanating from the sky. _The sun._

He’d only felt vestiges of its power on his return. Had so much time truly passed? 

The sharp clatter of dozens of footsteps brought him back to the present. Ignis, sensing their approach, sought one of the bottles by the chest. His fingers grazed the neck of one when someone kicked it out of the way. Ignis had no time to react, for a booted foot struck him on the face. He fell to the floor with a pained grunt. The sense of being surrounded soon followed. Ignis lifted his head, tried to detect who was where, only to have someone plant a heavy boot on the back of his neck and force him onto his belly. 

The one pinning him leaned over. The movement increased the pressure on Ignis’s neck. He gasped at the feel of his windpipe closing. But it was nothing compared to the sheer strength his attacker possessed. He felt him holding back, just as Nyx Ulric did when toying with him. This alone identified Ignis’s attacker as a Bloodhound. 

“The famous blind hunter,” a voice murmured- the same cold, cultured voice he’d heard outside. “The prince’s precious lover. I have you at last.” 

The pressure on Ignis’s neck lifted, prompting him to suck in several gulps of air. Rough hands seized him, dragged him to his feet. Ignis’s attempts to twist free resulted in a powerful blow to his midsection. He bent nearly in half, coughing up blood and bile. He’d barely recovered when a cruel hand yanked his head back.

A long, tense moment passed. Then a voice growled, “No. I don’t want to wait. I will take what’s mine _now_.”

The soft, metallic ring of a sword being drawn chilled the air. When its owner set it in hand, Ignis heard the scrape of the hilt against an open palm. Tensed in preparation for what no doubt would be a killing blow.

Then he felt the presence of a powerful vampire. Raw, emotional. Fiercely determined. Enraged.

Ignis sucked in a sharp breath.

_Noct…?_

The darkness of his vision peeled away, showing him the twisted features of a pale-faced man with wild, shoulder-length silver hair and wearing white and blue armor. His lips were drawn back, exposing the length of his teeth to give him a feral appearance. He signaled to the man holding Ignis in place. As he spun him around, Ignis’s field of vision, composed of a dizzying view of the crypt, soon settled on the figure leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flashed magenta, his teeth bared in a ferocious snarl. 

“No,” Noctis’s ragged voice filled the air despite the relative low pitch of his tone. Ignis shivered at its raw power. He took a few, unsteady steps forward, a hand outstretched, fingers curled. Flinched when he stepped into a square of faint sunlight. “Get away from him.”

The other men shifted in place, seemingly uneasy. Only the Bloodhound remained unfazed. “Subdue the prince,” he ordered the men at his back. “Bring the hunter outside.”

Several men raced past, weapons drawn. Ignis acted on instinct.

Spinning in place, Ignis lashed out with a sharp kick to his keeper’s leg. Had he been wearing a boot, it would have forced him to his knees. As it was, the force behind it was enough to stagger him, allowing Ignis to successfully flee. Despite Noctis’s show of power, he was in no condition to fight. And certainly not against four armed men. 

He shouted a warning to him. It quickly devolved into a choked gasp of pain. Ignis stood in place, legs wobbling, eyes fixed on the bloody blade erupting from his right shoulder.

In his panic, he caught Noctis’s gaze. Noctis stared, mouth dropping open in horror, as Ignis’s body jerked in place at the sword’s rough withdrawal. Thoughts coming apart as pain and blood loss overwhelmed him, Ignis took two steps toward Noctis. Dropped to his knees, then slid to the ground. 

The last thing he saw was his prince’s terror-stricken face.

The last thing he heard was his prince’s howl of rage.

Then, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last segment in this chapter is a homage to the bridge scene from Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust. It's my fave in the whole movie. I have been waiting to share this with you all ever since I imagined how things would play out for Iggy and Noct. 
> 
> It'll be at least two weeks before I update again, as I am traveling to Boston for a few days next week for vacation. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading and commenting!


	14. Love and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Ravus's attack in the crypt has dire consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all my beautiful and wonderfully patient readers!! I have not forgotten this delightful AU. I hope to wrap things up in the next chapter or two, but hopefully not with months in between updates. Happy reading! :)

The king heard the commotion well before he exited the house. Ignoring Clarus’s protests, Regis half ran, half hobbled, down the stairs, hands braced against the wooden banister for support. Staff and guards alike turned at his approach, shared expressions of astonishment on their faces. A few called to him, but the king stumbled past, crossing over the long square of carpet and setting foot outside. Only the uneven feel of the cobblestones at his feet reminded him he’d fled his chamber without sturdy footwear.  
He’d gone a few steps when his senses became overwhelmed by the harsh feel of light.

“Majesty!” A strong hand closed around his forearm, halting Regis’s frantic, albeit clumsy, pace. “Please, you must not venture into the daylight. The sun—”

Regis shook his head, all the refusal he could muster as he felt himself broiling beneath the sun’s light. The pain was unlike anything he ever experienced- a persistent tingling along his skin and senses that steadily grew hotter. 

Regis shaded his eyes, wincing as the skin of his hand burned. Dozens of silhouettes converged ahead, their forms distorted. Their voices were distorted too, as if they were speaking in a foreign tongue.

Clarus stepped in front of him, using his larger frame to create a shield against the sun. Regis’s relief was short-lived, for when he met his friend’s gaze, he identified concern radiating from his eyes, as well as pain.

“Regis,” he said- only moments of distress allowed Clarus to abandon decorum. “You’ll not last long in this damnable light.”

The king coughed into his hand. When he drew it back, brown blood conformed to the thick wrinkles in his skin hugging a hand that looked no more than a skeletal claw. Anguish crossed Clarus’s features when Regis gripped his shirt, fingers dragging at the material.

“I’ll not last much longer regardless,” he rasped. Slowly, he straightened to his full height, though his hand in Clarus’s shirt did not relax. “I cannot allow Lord Ravus’s reckless actions to endanger my son or Ignis.”

“But, if Ignis is truly responsible for the death of that vampire…”

“No.” Regis spoke firmly. Clarus came to attention at the sound, for it was the voice of his king, his sovereign, despite the frailty of the old man leaning against him. “Ignis could not have done this. He has been with my son for the past several days. They—”

A howl of rage shattered the air, freezing both in place by the anguish behind it. Regis watched, amazed, as billowing clouds darkened the sky. Wind swept through the trees, whipped at the ocean’s surface now exploding with whitecaps. Those drawn to the courtyard murmured in confusion and dismay.

“I’ve never seen a storm of this magnitude,” Clarus said, awestruck. He exchanged a swift look with his king. “Is this the prince’s doing?”

Regis did not answer straightaway. His mind drifted back to a time, centuries ago it seemed, to an instance between he and Noctis concerning elemental influence.

_“When will I be able to do that?” he’d asked, an eager boy of nine._

_Regis turned from the fireplace, having just stoked the flame to ease the chill in the air. A seaside residence taxed even a vampire’s tolerance for the cold. “While we Lucis vampires possess elemental affinity, there’s no definitive way to tell what yours will be.”_

_Noctis’s face fell. “Then how will I know?”_

_“It is something you must discover on your own.”_

_The boy frowned, clearly displeased with his father’s answer. “That’ll take forever.”_

_The king chuckled lightly. “Not quite.” He touched his son’s shoulder. “Know that when it manifests, it will require great strength to control.”_

_Noctis stared at his father with curious eyes. “How come?”_

_At this, Regis’s gaze drifted to the fire. “The raw power of the elements is…indescribable,” he said, recalling the moment he discovered his own affinity. It had not been a pleasant experience. “Nature itself is willful, untamed. Perhaps it is for this reason it appears when we are at our most vulnerable.”_

_“It hurts?” Noctis’s mind sought the only thing he could understand._

_“If you are hurting when it happens,” he said softly. At seeing the distress in his son’s face, Regis knelt, his back to the flames that put sudden shadows into Noctis’s eyes. He held their hands between them, intent on offering what comfort he could to a future he wasn’t certain he’d be present to witness._

_“There is something else about our affinity,” he said, his sorrow lifting at the keen look of interest Noctis sent him. The king smiled. “It can also develop in response to another’s pain. Someone you care about. You can use it to protect them.”_

_Noctis nodded to himself. Determination crossed his face, allowing Regis a glimpse of the man he’d become. “I want to use it like that.”_

_And the king, heart aching with love and pride, leaned in to plant a kiss atop Noctis’s tousled hair. The gesture of affection resulted in the boy making a face, which broadened Regis’s smile._

_“I know you will.”_

__Another scream echoed, the howling winds intensifying. Lightning streaked the sky. Several bystanders stared, absolutely transfixed by the storm now venting its fury- Noctis’s fury- over the castle. Regis would have shared their fascination at the prince’s elemental affinity realized, but he feared for his son more. This violent reaction, no doubt born from the threat to Ignis’s life, needed to be controlled before it escalated beyond the castle._ _

__He took a step forward, faltered. Clarus was there, as he always was and had been throughout Regis’s lifetime, the arm at his waist steadying him. Regis met Clarus’s gaze, did not miss the incredible emotion shining in his friend’s eyes._ _

__“Majesty,” Clarus said. Then, his expression softening: “Regis.”_ _

__Regis touched his friend’s hand lightly. All the acknowledgment he could give for what could be their final exchange. The farewell hanging between them was simply too large to speak of aloud._ _

__“My friend.” Regis’s voice was a low rasp. “Take me to my son.”_ _

__Pain entered Clarus’s eyes. But he nodded, ever ready to assist his king._ _

__With Clarus’s strong arm supporting him, Regis Lucis Caelum walked the path toward the crypt for the last time. Toward his son, and toward his ultimate fate._ _

__***_ _

__Darkness. Screams. Pain. For an instant, Ignis’s fractured mind called up visions of the night he was blinded, the hunters nightmarish specters now, their torches blazing brightly. But it was not the feel of flames consuming his flesh that yanked him from the memory. An anguished scream cut through the darkness, severing its hold on Ignis and propelling him upward into awareness._ _

__Ignis awoke with a sharp gasp. Understanding came to him slowly: the cold, stone floor at his cheek, the wind rustling his hair and clothing, the roar of waves breaking against shore. Voices crying out in alarm, followed by what sounded like the metallic ring of swords._ _

__Panic set his heartbeat racing. Lifting his head, Ignis forced his eyes open._ _

__Rather than the familiar darkness, he beheld silhouettes picked out in blue. The air changed, Ignis’s skin prickled. Instinct had him bury his face in his arms, his body tensing in anticipation of a blow._ _

__A split second later, a bolt of lightning struck, the resulting impact releasing an energy wave that launched Ignis across the floor. As he rolled, trying to get a sense of himself and his surroundings amidst the screams and scent of charred stone, he made the mistake of opening his eyes. For a brilliant white glow obscured his vision. This absence of something to focus on frightened him more than the night he lost his sight. For in this blinding whiteness, a terrible silence existed. It wasn’t until after incredible pain had him cover his ears that he realized an intense ringing overwhelmed his mind. It tore through him, left him gasping for air and desperate for relief. It seemed an eternity passed before the ringing lessened, allowing for sound to return. An anguished cry caught his ear. He stiffened._ _

___Noct!_ _ _

__Forcing himself to his knees, one hand immediately seeking the wound at his shoulder, Ignis called for Noctis. Terrified screams echoed all around him, as did the rustle of armor as men rolled about the ground. Ignis dared to open his eyes again, squinting into the fading brilliance. Those around him took on the guise of barely distinguishable shapes, edges blurred, as if viewed through fog. He felt blinded anew, though both eyes were wide open._ _

__Breathing hard, Ignis turned in the direction of the doorway leading to the inner sanctum, to where he last saw his beloved prince. Even now, the memory of his anger, his anguish, sent a chill down Ignis’s spine. The power he’d felt radiating from him- it was nothing he ever experienced before. Not even King Regis possessed such strength._ _

__Movement behind him caught him off guard. Rough hands seized him by the shoulders, dragged Ignis backward. He hit the stone floor hard. Agony tore through Ignis’s body, cutting off his cry of protest, of Noctis’s name._ _

__Fingers twisted into the back of his hair, jerked his head up. Ignis’s breath hissed between his teeth as a voice, low and menacing, spoke in his ear._ _

__“This is for my brother,” the Bloodhound promised before a rough hand gripped the side of Ignis’s head and forced it to the side. Hot breath blew over Ignis’s throat. Anticipation of the bite had him jerk in the Bloodhound’s grasp. But the unrelenting hold crippled his ability to escape. Ignis frantically cast his gaze about the crypt, seeking something to defend himself with. The bottles he’d collected for Noctis lay broken, blood staining the floor deep red, and just out of reach. Ignis clenched his teeth. The Bloodhound bent Ignis’s head even more. Tears slid down Ignis’s cheeks as his gaze drifted to the doorway leading to the inner sanctum. Silently begged for Noctis's forgiveness.__

____

____But then, just as Ignis expected his throat to be ripped out, Noctis was there. Beautiful and terrible in his rage, his eyes flashing magenta, teeth bared in a snarl, hands curled like claws. He slammed into the Bloodhound, separating the two. Ignis leaped to his feet in one, swift movement, his left hand pressed to his wounded shoulder, a shattered piece of glass in his other. His every sense was now attuned to Noctis, the expectation of battle._  
_   


__The Bloodhound growled low in his throat, shoulders hunched, teeth flashing as Noctis stood before him. Both trembled, bodies tense and primed for the kill. Noctis’s hands flexed, as if he were ready to tear the Bloodhound to pieces._ _

__It took a moment for the Bloodhound to speak. “Step aside, whelp,” he said, words thick with anger and bloodlust. “The hunter’s life is mine.”_ _

__“No.” Noctis’s voice was low, menacing. “You will not hurt him. Not while I live.”_ _

__To this, the Bloodhound gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “You? Don’t be foolish. You live out of necessity, Highness.” He spoke Noctis’s title with clear disdain. “Our liege will have his way with you, and it is not a moment too soon.”_ _

__Noctis’s eyes flashed. Outside, lightning streaked the skies. The wind intensified. “What are you talking about?”_ _

__Heart pounding fast, Ignis surged forward, heedless of his injury. The Bloodhound’s sword was up in an instant, blocking the strike Ignis intended for his enemy’s throat._ _

__“You will speak no more of this,” Ignis said in rough tones. He leaned into his stance, panic and determination to protect Noctis from the truth lending to his strength. Blood from where the shard cut into his skin trickled down his palm._ _

__The Bloodhound appeared surprised by the sight of his sword gradually yielding to a shard of glass as if it were a dagger. His nostrils flared, no doubt due to the scent of Ignis’s blood. Then a slow, cruel smile tugged at his lips, emphasized the gleam in his eyes._ _

__“I see,” he said, very softly. “Perhaps I should keep you alive, then. Seeing you die after our liege is done with the prince will be as satisfying to me as killing you now.”_ _

__Ignis’s eyes narrowed. The fierce desire to kill the Bloodhound where he stood had him shaking all over. Not because of the threat to his life. Because he had insinuated Ignis would not be able to help his prince. There was no greater insult. Ignis prepared to advance, consequences be damned._ _

__Noctis struck first._ _

__Utilizing the speed and strength that was his birthright, Noctis lunged at the Bloodhound, teeth bared. Ignis watched, as if from very far away, as Noctis closed one hand over the Bloodhound’s sword and thrust it down, seemingly careless of the blood now pouring from his palm. Next, he knocked the taller man down, forced his head back, and attacked the side of his neck with a fervor Ignis had seen in other vampires but never in his prince. Transfixed, Ignis watched Noctis tear a chunk of flesh free and spit it onto the ground. Yet as Noctis leaned in to finish the job, oblivious to the way the Bloodhound sputtered in absolute shock, a loud, commanding voice echoed in the chamber._ _

__“That’s enough, Noctis. Let Lord Ravus up.”_ _

__Ignis quickly looked toward the entryway, more a blown-out hole than a door now, and beheld a frail, old vampire who nonetheless carried himself with regal bearing. The shock at seeing King Regis for the first time, and in such a state, seemed too great to grasp. Taking a careful step forward, he laid a shaking hand on Noctis’s shoulder. Noctis, still caught in the grips of his bloodlust, flinched as if burned, but his head shot up. The blue silhouettes framing each person in Ignis’s vision abruptly changed. A variety of brilliant hues sapped the blue from them, almost too intense for Ignis’s mind to process. For he saw, truly saw, through Noctis’s eyes now._ _

__Noctis slowly rose from Lord Ravus’s body. He stared up at the prince with hatred in his eyes, the hand covering his bloody wound shaking. As Noctis stepped away from his would-be prey, Ignis kicked the man’s sword out of reach. Cast a cold, hard look his way. Lord Ravus’s lips peeled back into a snarl, the only reaction he could muster. Ignis knew this wound, while terrible, would not be the end of him. He was quite familiar with a Bloodhound’s capacity to withstand injuries._ _

__Leaving the Bloodhound where he lay, Ignis shadowed Noctis. All the remaining soldiers hung back, but out of respect or fear, Ignis could not determine._ _

__Noctis’s approach was slow, almost hesitant. Stark contrast to the violence of his response to Lord Ravus’s words. His entire lower face was streaked with bright, red blood. A few drops rolled off his bare chest. A steady stream dripped from the cut on his hand to pool on the floor._ _

__“Dad…” A dozen unspoken emotions echoed in that one word. Ignis’s heart ached for Noctis, for the king, because of what fate intended for them._ _

__The king stepped forward. Gestured with a skeletal hand just barely covered by thin, parchment-like skin. His hollowed eyes shone with emotion. “My son,” he said. A trembling smile just barely lifted his lips. “I feared I would not see you again.”_ _

__Worry and fear edged Noctis’s words. “What’s happened to you? Why are you…” He trailed off, his attention going past the king to the sky outside. Instinctual fear entered his gaze now. The sun’s hold over his kind was strong, especially to those who had never witnessed its power._ _

__Ignis closed the distant between himself and his prince. Offered what silent support he could in this meeting that shouldn’t have happened, yet circumstances forced it to. Noctis exchanged a brief, meaningful glance with Ignis, before speaking to his father once more._ _

__“What did he mean about our liege?”_ _

__King Regis now stood within arm’s reach of his son. Yet at his question, sorrow and regret surfaced in his gaze. The king bowed his head. Ignis, who had only known this vampire by the strength of his aura, was astonished at sensing how…diminished it became in the span of a few seconds. And when he eventually collapsed to the chorus of surprised gasps, Noctis’s the loudest among them, Ignis knew there was no more time._ _

__Noctis raced to his father’s side, gathered him in his arms. Ignis was right behind him. At the same instant, another man, one Ignis could only assumed was Clarus Amicitia, dropped to his knees alongside Noctis. He laid a hand on the king’s, lips drawn into a thin, trembling line as he fought to retain his composure. Noctis, on the other hand, let his heartache be seen, as well as felt. Ignis touched Noctis’s shoulder, needing to feel him as much as he needed to give comfort._ _

__“Noctis…” The king’s voice was barely above a whisper._ _

__“Shh, Majesty. Save your strength. Allow us to bring you inside,” Clarus murmured, but the king did not seem to hear him._ _

__King Regis touched Noctis’s face with a shaking hand. Noctis held it in place, his eyes pleading. “Forgive me. We…your mother and I…we did it from love. Wanted to spare you this.”_ _

__“Spare me? From what? Dad,” Noctis begged, emotion thickening his voice as the king sagged in his arms. “What’s going to happen to me?”_ _

__At this heartfelt cry, the king turned dull, pain-filled eyes Ignis’s way. Though he had already decided to reveal the truth to his prince, the king turning it into a deathbed promise made the burden sit heavier in his heart._ _

__“Ignis. I can think of no better man to love and care for my son. I leave him, the truth, and our legacy, in your hands,” the king said, his words so low Ignis just about heard them._ _

__Ignis swallowed past the lump in his throat. There was so much he wanted to say. Could not find the strength to speak. He nodded slowly._ _

__The king closed his eyes and sighed, very softly. A faint smile touched his lips. “Remember, Noctis,” he breathed, his voice sounding very far away. “Wheresoever you may go, your mother and I will be with you. Always…”_ _

__A breathless silence fell over the crypt. Then King Regis’s hand slipped off Noctis’s face to drop to the floor. The black ring circling his finger, embossed with the Lucis family crest, glistened in the weak sunlight, its grooves soaked in blood._ _

__Clarus Amicitia closed the king’s eyes with a reverent hand. Low wails sounded from those gathered without the crypt. Those hovering near Lord Ravus watched with faces like stone. The Bloodhound himself, tended by one of his associates, appeared pleased by the turn of events. Part of Ignis knew they’d have to be careful around them from now on. Especially since his position among the vampires was more tenuous now that his strongest supporter lay dead._ _

__And Noctis, whose gaze never left his father, sat as if frozen, his face stricken. Even the hand that once held the king’s to his cheek hovered in midair, fingers trembling just so. The look he sent Ignis was one of sorrow, shock, and, worst of all, betrayal. It cut Ignis to the core. He whispered Noctis’s name, desperate to explain, but Noctis did not hear him._ _

__Gathering his father close, Noctis bowed his head. Within moments, heavy rain fell, the air electrified as lightning cut across the sky. As the storm shared in Noctis’s grief, Ignis watched his beloved prince weep. He never felt more alone, or more helpless._ _


End file.
